Do Unto Others
by DC Luder
Summary: Gotham City's protectors must save it from a new predator. Revised edition now available. Graphic violence and adult content within, reader discretion is advised.
1. April Showers

Title: Do Unto Others…: April Showers

Author: DC Luder

Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.

Rating: M for language, violence and adult themes

Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.

^V^

"Society's had their chance. I'm going hunting. Hunting for humans."

James Oliver Huberty

^V^

Sugarloaf Apartments, May 2nd, 12:02 AM

She had never brought anyone home after just meeting them.

She'd never had a one night stand or been intimate with any man she hadn't dated for less than a month.

In fact, her last boyfriend had waited a little over four weeks before he had been granted permission to take her to the bedroom. Amy had been in love with Cory long before that night, which is why she had made him wait so long. He was exactly who she dreamed of as the perfect boyfriend, far surpassing those she had endured in high school. As a college girl at the state university, she felt she was ready for a more mature partner, someone she could possibly spend the rest of her life with.

Just over six feet tall with wavy brown hair and caramel colored eyes, Cory was one of the more popular students in her Junior class. Although a transfer from across the river at Hudson, he had quickly become a famous face on campus on the intramural lacrosse team as well a star student in the sports management program. He was the king of parties and yet still volunteered weekends at a youth center.

And for some reason, he liked her.

Seeing how Amy was general business major with a minor in accounting, they shared only three classes in his first semester at Gotham State. Amidst the more outgoing and stylish female classmates, Amy had never expected him to notice her. But he had, going as far as inviting her to a big party the weekend before March break started. There, he had been a sweetheart, getting her drinks, dancing to all of her favorite songs and gently kissing her when no one was looking. She had explained to him at the end of the night that she wanted to wait on being intimate and he had readily agreed, saying that there had been no pressure.

It was supposed to be the start of a perfect relationship.

In return, Amy had done anything and everything to make Cory happy, from playing video games to going to scary movies at the dollar theatre. It was the least she could have done to give him a reason to stay with her while she left him hanging out to dry in the intimacy department. She spent four weeks going to the university gym to shed a few pounds and had used the tanning beds to cover her pale skin in a warm glow. Amy had also spent nearly two-hundred dollars of her hard earned tutoring money into getting her hair and nails trimmed and groomed, doing anything she could to make their first night memorable.

And despite all of her efforts, her hopes and dreams, that first night with Cory had been nothing more than a few sweaty minutes of him lying on top of her, thrusting sporadically, biting her nipple roughly and pulling out just in time to spill semen over her tanned, flat abdomen.

He had made no mention of the results of her hard work, just as he had made no effort to bring her to climax. Instead, he had rolled over, exhaled loudly and said, "I'm going to get another beer, you want one?"

She had broken up with him the next morning.

For the rest of the month of March, she had focused only on herself and her friends. Cory had ignored her during their classes together which made Amy wonder if she had hurt him by ending things so abruptly after he had been so kind to her. The worry had been quelled when she saw him on the quad one afternoon making out with one of the perfect, blond cheerleaders…

Well, if he could move on, so could she.

"Nice place," the man said as he toured the living area.

Moving off campus had been another big step for her, one she was able to convince herself of after leaving Cory. A semi-private community offered surveillance, Laundromat, a swimming pool and access to gym facilities. It was a cozy, two-bedroom flat with an open living area and recently remodeled kitchen and bathroom. The white tiles drew her in, looking so neat and clean. Having only been a resident for two weeks, she had yet to find a roommate to cover expenses but thankfully her mom had chipped in to cover what she had lacked.

With his dark green eyes surveying her modestly furnished room, Amy took the opportunity to look him over once more. He was nearly six feet tall with broad shoulders and sculpted muscles that begged to be touched. At the bar she had asked if he worked out and he had smirked, "I jog mostly. About all I have time for."

"Oh, what do you do?" she had asked, teasing her straw over her lips.

"I run security for City Hall."

He was older, mid-thirties she guessed but with a real career and a house in the suburbs with a garden that he had described in detail. She had hung on to his every word, not that she was that interested in flowers and shrubbery or weeding and mulching. His voice had been hypnotic with an even baritone that reminded her of George Clooney, her first TV crush. Unlike Cory, who had pretended to be likable and worthy of her attention, this man was a true gentleman, offering to buy her a drink, only if she promised not to drive herself home.

After talking for nearly two hours at the bar, she had suggested they head back to her apartment, not six blocks away. He had seemed uncomfortable, instantly causing Amy to doubt her bold move. She had decided to continue being brash, leaning in to kiss his cheek, "Don't worry, I won't bite."

They walked back in the cool night air side by side. In the glow of the streetlamps, she had been able to make out the more defined features of his face, quickly deciding his eyes and his smile were tied for being her favorite. The anxiety in him had seemed to grow and she had done her best to ease his concern, holding his hand gently and telling him that she just wanted to get away from the crowded bar so they could talk.

"Talk… something my species isn't known for," he had mused.

"There is always the exception to the rule," Amy had joked back.

Arriving at her apartment door, she had trouble putting the key into the lock but managed to get it on the second try. She had only had a few martinis, but given how little she had eaten that day, the alcohol had headed straight to her blood. Amy gave him a brief tour of the place before, studying him as he studied his surroundings. Not wanting to get caught staring at him, she asked if she could get him something to drink.

He nodded, "Water would be fine. Think I had a bit too much at the bar."

Amy laughed out loud for no reason other than being tipsy herself, "Sure thing."

While she was in the kitchen pouring two glasses of water, Amy paused for a moment to undo the top two buttons on her blouse. She had been raised to be a good girl, to follow the rules, be polite and above all else, act like a lady. Doing just that had put in her a relationship with Cory, and others before him, that hadn't appreciated or even cared about her. She had only known the man in her living room for mere hours and he knew she did yoga, loved going to the flea markets outside of town and secretly watched Cake Boss while eating cake.

If that had not been enough, the chemistry was unbelievable and every time they had made physical contact at the bar, she could feel the electricity shoot through her. Every other girl on campus dressed like a hooker, flirted nonstop and opened their legs to anyone willing to lie between them. They didn't follow the rules and yet they were happy and having the time of their lives.

It may have not been the perfect way to start a relationship, but if it made her happy…

When she returned to the living room, Amy realized that the overhead light had been turned off. She giggled to herself, thinking how he was already setting the mood. Setting the glasses back down on the kitchen counter, she proceeded to navigate the dark living area before making her way down the short hallway.

"Where'd you go?" she called out, a grin taking hold of her lips.

"In here, Amy," he replied calmly.

_God, he sounded exactly like-._

The door to her bedroom was open and she noticed that the lamps on either of the bedside tables were set to low light. Rather than enter the room, she leaned against the doorframe and finished unbuttoning her blouse. She had diligently maintained her gym and tanning routine and she hoped that he, unlike stupid Cory, would notice.

"Ready when you are," she sighed, her eyes closed.

Her eyes opened when a strong forearm wrapped around her throat as another hand shoved a towel into her wide-open mouth. The man she had admired for most of the evening shoved her down on the perfume scented comforter with such a force that her breath gave out. A flea market gem, the right-hand lamp suddenly vanished with the sound of shattering glass. The strong arms released her in order to flip her onto her back, bring her face to face with him.

The face Amy had kissed twice that night was tight with anger, lips pulled back in a sneer, "You can't hurt him now, whore. I won't let you…"

Amy opened her mouth to ask what he was doing but only wet sobs passed through her lips. He struck her with the back of his hand before reaching down to grip her throat in his vice-like grip. As she felt something sharp and slick stab into her side repeatedly, she wished she could call for help. She wished that she hadn't had so much to drink.

She wished that Cory was there.

^V^

GCPD Headquarters, May 2nd, 2:34 a.m.

"So much for April showers," Gordon sighed.

The National Weather Service had offered an optimistic forecast of a thirty percent chance of light rain. Instead, Gotham had seen off and on torrential downpours that had waned by midnight, only to return unexpectedly in the early morning hours. Needless to say, it had made patrols long, damp and miserable.

I watched as Commissioner Jim Gordon stood next to the Bat-signal, shivering in his trench coat and soaked rain hat. He tried to light his pipe, but the precipitation had prevented him from any sort of success. Not wanting to torture him any further, I landed soundlessly from my perch twelve feet above and spoke, "Wonderful weather we're having, Jim."

As Gordon's heart rate doubled he cursed under his breath, "Might as well get inside, out of this," he motioned to the cloudy sky.

He shut the signal off and proceeded to make his way towards the emergency exit and back into the building. I advanced in an alternate manner, jumping off the edge of the roof and landing on the stone ledge of his window. Within seconds, I passed through the and took to standing near the rear corner of the room. While I waited for him, I looked about the room, intrigued that the office had hardly changed in his years in Gotham. New furniture, but still arranged as it had always been, in a chaotic, exhaustive order.

After closing the door behind him, Gordon removed his soaked outerwear and hung them up on an old coat rack next to his filing cabinet. Even though he was mere inches away, he was unable to see me.

He began, "I've got a bit of bad news for you."

Silence.

Gordon sat at his desk and picked up a fairly thin folder, "Another girl was found. Condominium complex near GSU." As he wiped off his glasses, Gordon missed my sudden frown.

I spoke quietly and deeply, "Third one in three months."

Gordon shifted in his chair, "So far no witnesses, but Special Crimes is calling all the clubs over on that side of town, see if any of them saw her or have her on camera leaving with anybody."

I remained silent as I skimmed the initial incident report in the manila folder, finding details I had already memorized from the previous two victims. Preliminary incident report listed off details of the victim, both of the life she once lived and how she had died. Severe stab wounds were marked on a investigation sheet, red lines on a outline of a body. Brief descriptions of how the body had been found sprawled on the bed, no obvious signs of forced entry, no apparent murder weapon or witnesses…

Several photographs brought the words to life, a nude woman, dark haired and fairly pretty, sprawled on a bed, her once youthful form reduced to gore.

The previous victims had been two young women, found dead, one in their car the other in her apartment. Each were characteristically marked with vicious bruises to the throat and visceral stab wounds in addition to evident sexual assault. Their ages had been eighteen, twenty-three and the latest was apparently just twenty-one. All had been enrolled in separate schools in Gotham, one still in high school while the others had been in college. Each had been of average intelligence and had no previous history with trouble, coming from good families with no reason to be on a morgue gurney at such a young age and for such a brutal reason…

He proceeded, "Neighbor reported to the building manager that she heard 'disturbing sounds' a little before two. Neighbor's an old lady, has complained numerous times about the girl's bedroom Olympics that broadcast through the walls. But she was persistent and after an hour of calls, the manager got up, went in and found her…"

Wiping his face of fatigue, he then added, "Had special crimes inform the parents… No known enemies, no roommate, ex-boyfriend has an alibi, not into drugs although the tox screen will tell us more… Just another young girl working her way through school."

"Time of death?" I inquired closing the file and hiding it under my cape.

"Medical Examiner didn't leave me any hardcopy, he guessed around midnight or so… said he was going to do the autopsy right away…. Forensics have been combing her apartment, nothing yet… give them a few hours and you can take a look yourself."

Without a word, I moved to the window and turned to face Gordon with a sudden urge to say something, possibly offer reassurance. Instead, I shot a line to the adjacent building and slipped out unnoticed.

"Get out of this rain," Gordon said to thin air.

^V^

Sugarloaf Apartments, May 2nd, 4:32 a.m.

Before I had responded to the signal, I had already been in a foul mood.

Robin had handled eleven armed robberies in the Theatre District, Batgirl had infiltrated several attempted burglaries and other property crimes along the northern end of the city, leaving me to tackle a month long effort in catching a certain corporate executive with his hands dirty. Bruce Wayne had been given a proposition by Albert Bartram to illegally invest in a fighting ring in the Bowery. While Bruce had garnered information before declining, Batman had put it to use.

No more gambling on street thugs fighting to the death.

After making the trek to headquarters, I should have rested, doctored a few bothersome wounds before proceeding to corner and interrogate the usual lot of snitches and lowlifes. Instead, I had the computer track dispatch going into and out of the crime, hoping they would take a break before the sun came up. Worst case scenario, I had a GCPD forensic tech disguise in the Mobile, but I wouldn't be able to work the way I wanted to: alone.

As for the last three months, visiting probationary convicts, known sex offenders and persons of interest had proved futile. Aside from bloodying my knuckles and wasting half of a tank of fuel traversing the city, I had gained nothing. Gotham was a haven to worst kinds of criminals, ranging from the delusional psychopaths to organized crime and everything in between. After nearly two decades, Gotham had finally found a balance, going nearly an entire year without an inmate escaping or some unforeseen natural disaster.

And then the body of a mutilated nineteen year old female turned up in an alley on the seventeenth of February…

With dawn twenty minutes away, I was greeted with a notification flag on the display panel. Normal at that hour, it was Oracle signing off for the night but she had been out of town for the weekend attending a wedding. She had informed me two weeks in advance and yet I still had forgotten about it. She had left earlier that afternoon, sighing at me through her cell phone, "If you need anything, J'onn is on monitor duty at the Watchtower."

"I won't need him."

She had replied, "If, if you need him… Other than that, Dick and I will be back Sunday nigh-."

"Dick?"

"Yes, for the thirteenth time this week, Dick is going with me. To Florida. For my college roommate's wedding. To her fiancé Derek."

I had hung up after saying, "Fine."

Arriving home from Wayne Enterprises later, I had complained to Alfred about discovering the last minute details of Barbara's weekend away. Naturally, he had quipped that I was capable of memorizing every minute detail of a crime scene and yet when it came to personal matters, I needed a date book. He had then suggested, "Or is it the fact that your ward is gallivanting with your protégé at a matrimonial event… enjoying themselves while you-."

"Enough, Alfred, I'll be downstairs."

"But of course, sir…"

The team of six forensic technicians were calling it quits, planning to take an hour personal break before regrouping at their lab to start cataloguing evidence before returning for a second go-through. There would be officers on guard, detectives finishing interviews of all residents in the community and patrolman touring the neighboring six blocks.

I would have to manage.

Sugarloaf Apartments was settled on a three-acre plot of arbor filled land with safe, quiet trails for joggers and dog-walkers alike. The residents were neighborly and comprised of the industrious commuters of Gotham coming home to two to three bedroom, one-car garage and two and a half kid homes as well as the more well off students enrolled at Gotham State University.

Ordinary people.

So much for normalcy.

As I carefully navigated into the area, using radar to find a course that avoided patrol cars, I contacted Robin and Batgirl. Both were quick to reply that they had already completed their rounds for the night and were headed home, Tim to Bristol and Cassandra to the Clocktower. Rather than update them on my current focus, I bid them good night.

Cutting the ignition, I sighed quietly in the Mobile, parked towards the rear of the secluded lot across from the apartment complex. Three-quarters was strictly private parking while the remaining forty-five spaces were municipal. Using the computer, I located a roster of those who paid for the safety of having their own parking space and only eight individuals were flagged with criminal records, namely possession charges and DUI arrests.

Looking out over the barely lit lot, I found the patrol car stationed at the main entrance of the condo complex. No security booth, just a key card swipe away from entering the community. The lot was a nice, dark, quiet place for any sort of monster to lurk and await its prey, with a perfect view of the entrance. As I sat and stared out through the bullet-proof windshield, I tried to picture him… parked in a unremarkable vehicle, watching as people came home from work, from dinner, from a night of partying. Did he pick her because she was stumbling drunk? Because of her curvaceous form?

Or had he already known her?

It was perhaps that exact uncertainty that bothered me the most. There was no face to this killer, nothing at all. There was no viable evidence, no fingerprints or discernable fibers. All I knew about him was that he was over six feet, right handed and his semen was not listed in any database. For years, I had developed my deductive intellect to be able to reason and dissect the minds of criminals in order to bring them to justice. Even the most twisted minds were readily unraveled once I began investigating them… but there was nothing to unravel.

After activating the night lenses of the cowl, I stepped out of the Mobile and made my way towards the southern fence of the parking area, opting for the concealment of the large oak trees. Clearing the fence, I opened up the radio scanner and put in a fake request for assistance a block away. I watched through focused lenses as the driver of the patrol car on guard duty lifted the receiver, "This is Unit 412... 10-23 on that request for assistance… Over."

I proceeded to respond to his uncertainty as I began making my way towards the low hedges and brick wall acting as a meager barrier to the outside world, "This is Unit 621, request for assistance, 1235 Terrace Road… 10-42A… possible witnesses for 187 at Sugarloaf apartments. Over."

"621, we copy… we'll send Unit 336 to assist, over."

Once on the other side, I smirked at how I had only needed to distract them with a radio call, not even a fake disturbance that would have forced them off post. Then I frowned for the same reason.

"412, copy that. Over."

After studying the layout of the facility briefly, it was already clear that there were going to be no witnesses. Each of the apartment buildings housed ten condominiums and were all the same shape, size and hue of beige stucco. If he had selected her specifically, he must have studied her in detail, learning where she lived and the quickest way in and out.

The address in the preliminary report had put Amy Bennett's former residence in the "Ivy" building, Apartment 21. No security cameras, save for those overlooking the carports and private garages, meant would provide no image of the man who had slain her. Entering the building was nearly as simple as making my way into the residential community. It merely involved a line up to the second floor window terrace and then unlocking and opening the glass door. Again, no sign of forced entry, if she had known him, it was possible she had let him in…

There was no alarm or security pad at the back entrance and I doubted there was one at the front door. For a single woman living by herself, she had no apparent sense of personal security, not even a dog to bark at unwanted visitors. I stepped quietly, opting to use night vision instead of risking a flashlight. The second bedroom was practically barren, hard wood floor glossy and completely visible save for several cardboard boxes had been stacked neatly in the corner.

Curvy handwriting in black permanent marker declared them to contain "Amy's Stuff".

As I moved into the hall, I looked in both directions before deciding to investigate the kitchen and living room before moving on to the focus of the visit. Everything was in perfect order, plush carpet meticulously vacuumed and stain-free, an over-stuffed sofa and couch set the color of pine trees was decorated with silk pillows of varying shades of green and tan. A coffee stand held several magazines, featuring various methods of weight loss and men baiting on the covers. Evidence tags marked the couch cushions, a few smudgy fingerprints on the coffee table but none were associated to the chaos of foot prints on the carpet. Obviously they had been left by forensics…

I thought to myself that there was a video game console, a large tower of games and DVDs as well as a Bose stereo and surround sound system. And yet, no computer or laptop, no school books, no doubt this was her haven while her studies remained in the confines of her bedroom...

I entered a small yet comfortable kitchen area, my boots clicking on the tiled floor. There were even fewer evidence tags, marked fingerprints on the refrigerator door handle, another marking a footprint on the white floor. High heels, obviously not the killers footwear. The refrigerator reflected that she lived alone. Juice, bottle of white sparkling wine, fresh vegetables, a loaf of wheat bread as well as a small cheese cake with only one slice missing.

On the other side of the room, the table was barely four foot square and yet it was elevated to nearly four feet tall, offering three matching high stools for seating. A few more tags marked the table and I looked to see a pile of that day's mail was the reason. I skimmed the envelopes and magazines, finding nothing worthy of being labeled evidence numbers sixty-seven through eighty.

The only sign there had been life in the apartment that night had been the sight of two glasses filled halfway with water. They sat inconspicuously on the counter, tepid after being neglected. Forensics had also taken note, leaving yellow cards as well as fingerprint dust. No saliva marks were present, not even a smudge of lipstick, the prints most likely matched that of the victim… playing proper hostess, offering a her guest a glass of water… had she invited him in? Had he actually known this one, beyond the seemingly chance encounters he had with the first two? Or had he instigated the connection, forcing his way into her life in order to take it from her?

My mind still toiled even as I left the kitchen and headed towards the bedroom.

With the bedroom's only window facing the adjacent building and out of the patrol car's line of sight, I felt safe enough to turn the light on. I switched the night lenses off and proceeded to take a deep breath before stepping in and flicking the switch. As with the rest of the house, the bedroom was well decorated and maintained, unlike most college residences. I recalled visiting Dick's dormitory once to find the room in shambles, nearly causing Alfred to faint with distress…

The bed's sheets and blankets had been removed as evidence and only the blood soaked mattress remained. Spatters of rouge flecked the wall above the headboard and could be seen on the right bedside table. My eyes diverted from the bed and moved to the floor, where nearly invisible dots of blood could be seen on the dark carpet. Despite all of the spatter and macabre, they had yet to find fingerprints or foot prints left behind that did not belong to the victim. And I doubted that their second run through in the morning would yield any.

The master bathroom was done in white and black tiles, lots of glossy surfaces and counters to leave a mark on. I mused that this one was careful, very controlled, unlike a majority of the murderers I encountered. The only thing that seemed out of order was that there was only one hand towel on a rack meant for two, but the initial report stated a used, bloodied towel was found next to the bed.

With sunlight beginning to creep over the city, I decided to retreat and wait to see what forensics had already retrieved. I returned to the Mobile without having to distract the patrol car. Another car had pulled up and the officers were musing over an early breakfast of coffee and bagel sandwiches. The rain had slowed to a mist, casting a concealing fog over the parking lot. quickly, shaking off the water before getting in.

The ride home, I operated the vehicle while looking once more at the data compiled by the computer. Amy Marie Bennett, daughter of Jon and Margie Bennett. Had a founder's scholarship to GSU, 3.4 GPA, third year major in general business. No arrest record, not even a parking ticket. She flagged three news articles in the last decade, two for her work on the Natoli Committee for her high school and the third for her participation in the GSU's Earth Day the previous year.

No obvious relation to the others. Different ages, different schools, different everything, not even physical resemblances save for being young, healthy and mildly attractive.

As the freeway led me out of the city, I reminded myself that there had to be a common factor, he had a method of choosing them…

The ride to Bristol was a haze and I wasn't sure if it was a result of my mind working overtime or the fact that I was physically spent. As I entered the Cave's entrance twenty to six, I wanted nothing but a shower, anti-inflammatory and sleep. Late nights that had turned to early mornings, Alfred hid his concern by force-feeding me breakfast and coffee. I knew that the older man was uneasy until the Batman had returned in one piece.

Finding the Cave dark and empty, I thought that even Alfred had his limits.

After a quick shower, few butterfly stitches and change into clean sweatpants, I bypassed the computer bay and made my way to the granite steps. With the autopsy still not complete and forensics just starting to log evidence, there was nothing left for me to do but waste what little energy I had left sitting at the computer. Being Saturday, I was able to devote the entire day to working on the latest case without pesky interruptions.

Upon entering the third floor bedroom, I noticed a small white piece of paper on the bedside table. Even before looking at the perfect penmanship, I could tell from the closed black out drapes and turned down bed that it was from Alfred.

_Master Bruce:_

_Given that you had forgotten about Master Dick and Ms. Barbara venturing away from the city, it is safe for one to assume that you have also forgotten about my trip to Buxton with Dr. Thompkins for the Habitat for Humanity project. I shall return Sunday midday and hope to find the Manor still standing. There are prepared meals in the refrigerator with re-heating instructions but when in doubt, order out. _

_Do try to avoid any dire situations while we are away. _

_Alfred_

I had forgotten all about it.

Collapsing onto the bed, I closed my eyes. I would have prayed to find sleep free of gory crime scenes and haunting faces.

Had I deserved it.

^V^


	2. Sanctity of Sunday

Title: Do Unto Others…: Sanctity of Sunday

Author: DC Luder

Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.

Rating: M for language, violence and adult themes

Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.

^V^

Wayne Manor, May 2nd, 9:01 a.m.

Something was ringing.

Something I desperately wanted to pummel.

Reluctantly, my hand reached out and felt for the phone on the bedside table. After knocking the alarm clock onto the floor and cursing under my breath, I managed to locate and retrieve the ringing pest.

In a raspy voice, I answered, "What?"

"Ah… Did I wake you?" a familiar voice teased.

Despite the fact that she had, I remarked , "No, been up since the crack of dawn."

"Right," she mused, "I bet you didn't get to bed before four."

"Six," I corrected her.

Soft laughter greeted my ear as I slowly sat up in bed, a smirk doing battle with the frown on my lips. She had probably been up since six and already treated herself to a morning iced latte, an hour of yoga and another hour of morning talk show. Never one to face the day sub par, her green eyes were probably already highlighted with chocolate eyeliner and shadow that was faded meticulously from dark brown to a deep purple. It had been years since she had chopped off her long, black waves, but her short hair was most likely tussled with precision.

I, on the other hand, was tangled in bed sheets, hair chaotic after fitful slumber. My mouth tasted awful and running a hand over my face left my palm tingling against rough stubble. My stomach had already started rumbling even though my eyes had only been open for less than a minute.

_When in doubt, order out…_

"What time is it?" I managed to ask as I peered over the edge of the bed in search of the overboard clock.

"Little after nine," Selina hesitated before inquiring, "Are you concussed?"

"Not that I know of."

"That doesn't say much… Well, now that I know you are fresh out of bed, would it be safe to assume that you have yet to eat?"

I pushed the blankets aside and rose to my feet, "That would be correct. But I generally try to avoid eating this early in the morning. In fact, I prefer to sleep."

"Then… sleep while I eat."

"What?" I questioned as I scanned the room for my robe. Finding it on the chaise, I donned it while holding the phone between my cheek and shoulder.

I heard a horn honk sound from outside the house and in the same moment over the phone. Crossing the room to the large window that overlooked the drive, I stared in partial disbelief that she was leaning against the driver's door of her coupe. When she spotted me, Selina blew me a kiss and then said, "Meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes," before hanging up.

So much for sleep.

Less than a year earlier, I had finally revealed my identity to her in the midst of tracking the villain Hush, who it turned had been none other than my childhood friend Thomas Elliott. During that time, I had allowed myself to grow close to her, allowed myself to become intimate with her and above all else, allowed myself to trust her. After having my enemies tricked into working together in order to rattle my nerves, the final confrontation had ended with a reformed Harvey Dent saving my life whilst shooting the murderous Hush. My world had been turned upside down and instead of coming home and finding comfort in Selina's companionship, I had accused her of being a pawn in Hush's plan, getting me to let my guard down so he could defeat me.

Offended as she had been at my outrageous claims, Selina had said that eventually I would come to trust that we were together because of who we were and not because of anything else. It had taken months of punishing myself as well as others before I came to realize she had been right. But like any cat, she didn't need me, she wanted me and only on her terms. My apology had come in the form of one hundred Alba roses being delivered to her penthouse anonymously. The next day, Bruce Wayne had received a large cardboard box of the flowers shredded to potpourri and a note saying: I like shiny things.

From there, we had slowly started a relationship, normal by some standards, and yet completely beyond our realm. Dinner, dancing, quiet evenings together strolling Robinson Park or helping Leslie at the Free Clinic. We shared plates of sushi on her living room floor while recalling the decade and half we had spent with one another without even knowing it. Although she had practically resigned from her criminal career, Catwoman still thrived, prowling the East End for predators and without patience for bats interfering.

Once a handful of weeks had passed, I felt myself growing close to her once more, almost too close. There was rarely a morning I didn't wake up in her penthouse or with her in my arms at the Manor. She was at my side at every social function and I rerouted my patrols in order to cross paths with her at least twice a night. Doubting myself, Alfred had encouraged me to listen to my heart while Dick told me to listen to mind and then promptly tell it to shut up.

On one of Dick's sporadic ventures to Gotham, we had shared a patrol together and light conversation. He had said at one point in the night, "Look at all the time you've wasted running around in circles… there's no point in letting that vicious cycle go on indefinitely. You two are getting too old to be alone."

I had then replied curtly, "I'm sorry, were talking to me about Selina or to yourself about Barbara."

After rolling his eyes, he had departed, "Selina deserves a medal of honor for loving you…"

Love.

I had never said the word to her, nor had she directed it to me. Deep down, I had never thought myself capable of loving anyone given the fact that the emotional attachment would only lead to suffering. Starting our relationship again, we had settled on the fact that since we weren't normal, we didn't intend on the normal path. Ultimately, it wasn't serious, for neither of us desired it, but we offered each other companionship. She was a constant in a world of violence and chaos and I was an anchor her independent spirit could look to.

In the weeks that had passed since Dick's advice had sent my thoughts into a turmoil, Selina and I had exchanged the infamous three letter words. She had said it first, after apologizing for being the cliché romanticized girly girl. Although she had told me not to say it, I had, admitting what I had known for years. I loved her, unlike any other woman in my life, and yet I couldn't quell the worry that uttering it aloud would make her a target for my enemies. Especially once the brutalized bodies of young women started turning up in February…

It took five minutes to splash water on my face and find a pair of loafers to make the trek to the kitchen in. I took the three flights of stairs two steps at a time, reaching the ground floor just in time to follow the trail of fresh coffee. Passing through the open archway of the kitchen, I smirked to see Selina already hard at work at the stove with three burners fired up. One skillet had simple scrambled eggs cooking while the second was searing bacon and the final pan crackled with hash browns.

"I was going to make stuffed French toast but I don't think I love you that much," Selina remarked without looking back.

After admiring her fitted jeans and dolphin gray silk chiffon top, I stepped up behind her and looked over her shoulder, "Is that so?"

"Tis…" she said before smacking me square in the forehead with the spatula. When I stepped back to wipe my brow, she turned and grinned, "Respect the cook."

"I thought it was 'kiss the cook'?" I tried to put humor in my voice but it fell flat.

Selina shook her head as she looked over my disheveled form. Once she returned her attention to her work, she asked, "You look like hell. Over easy."

I leaned against the counter a few inches away from the stove and replied, "Busy night."

Turning the burner down on the eggs, she nodded, "Yeah, it was all over the news this morning. Poor girl… Figured I'd come cheer you up… keep you from spending the entire day in gloom."

"I appreciate it."

Selina looked up at me with a devious smirk, "You better."

Although she refused to let me help cook based on orders Alfred had given her the day before, I went about making fresh orange juice and setting the table in the nook. For the better part of thirty minutes, I tried to be amicable and social while veering my mind away from what waited for me in the Cave. Usually, whenever Selina had caught me drifting into dark waters, she would lure me back by rubbing her toes against my shin under the table or even pinching my kneecap with her manicured nails.

That morning was an exception.

We cleared the table together and did our best to properly rinse the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher. Wiping her hands on towel, Selina smirked sadly, "I guess I couldn't convince you to go back to bed?"

Rather than coldly turn her away, I stepped forward and set my hands on her hips, "Are you going to make me?"

She laughed, then set her hands on my chest to stand on her toes, kissing my rough cheek before saying, "As much as I would love to, I know we both would rather you focus on something else…"

Something odd came over her eyes and I felt guilty for being the reason behind it.

I offered to walk her out but Selina declined and made me vow to behave myself while I was home alone. Although I told her I would visit her after patrols that night, we both knew it was hollow promise. I waited until the sound of her car faded before filling a carafe with coffee and making my way to the study.

^V^

First National Bank, May 2nd, 10:10 a.m.

"You got a minute?"

Pete looked up from the newspaper he had been reading and found the uniform-garbed man who stood in the doorway. Charlie Morgan, a fellow security guard and recent employee of the month. Musty aftershave and a bad nicotine addiction that he fought with patches under the long sleeves of his shirt. Before replying, Pete looked back down at the police blotter once more, "I'm on break for another five minutes."

Opting to sit on the edge of the break room table, Charlie continued, "Well, you know I'm going to go to up north to visit my mother tomorrow, it's her birthday. I should be back but… would you mind helping open on Monday morning if I don't?"

Although he had no reason to, Pete doubted that Charles was going to see his mother. Most Monday mornings when he took his break, Pete overheard Charles bragging to the male bank employees about his weekend, namely his sexual concurrent of some young woman. It wasn't polite to eavesdrop, Pete's mother had drilled that into him at a young age. But technically it wasn't his fault since Charlie's words grew louder the more intimate the story became…

Glancing up, Pete nodded and said, "Not a problem," before looking down to finish reading about a domestic disturbance that had occurred less than six blocks from his gym.

"Thanks, Pete, I owe you big time," Charlie grinned before hopping off of the table and heading out the door.

It was nice to be nice, Pete mused as he returned to the front page. He had been doing so all morning, stealing a glance when no one was looking. The bold type of the headlines declared caused his heart to skip a beat, declaring another young woman had become the victim of Gotham's latest predator. The body of the article was just as dull as every other story featured in the periodical mere ink on thin paper trying recreate what had transpired…

With a minute to spare, he folded the paper and placed it underneath his shirt, tucked into his waistband. The bank had stopped supplying free newspapers and magazines forcing employees to bring their own reading materials from home. Since he hadn't finished reading it, Pete wasn't willing to leave his paper behind to be wrinkled, ripped or saturated with spilled coffee. Being a Saturday, there were only three tellers, the assistant bank manager, three loan offices working the half-day shift, along with himself and Charlie. Surely one of them brought something else to read.

Pete quietly resumed his post just to the left of the main entrance. Charlie was on the north entrance off of 52nd Street. The size of the bank and its significance to the city allowed for its security guards to be armed with .38's. Where Charlie and the other guards liked being armed and dangerous, Pete despised it.

He could hardly touch the one holstered at his hip without a foul taste rising in his throat.

Even as a young boy where children his age had battled one another with toy guns and imaginary ones alike, he would hide in jungle gyms or run home with his hands over his ears. As expected, his odd behavior had only encouraged his peers to tease and taunt him, making sure to elaborate the sound of their pretend gunfire to get a rise out of their prey.

When that had become boring, they had started calling him Peepee to make fun of his initials. It wouldn't have been so bad if it was just playful banter, but it hurt him on a very personal and visceral level.

His father's words still echoed, "Christ Pete, you're ten years old, you're too old to be messing your bed…"

His mother would have defended him, had she still been alive.

After one particularly rough day of teasing at school, Pete had told his father about the way the other kids treated him. Rather than try and offer comfort or to explain why they picked on him, his father had said that he needed to toughen up and take action rather than running away from his problems. That in the end, confronting those that posed a threat would make him a stronger person.

As a child, he hadn't heeded his father's advice.

As a man grown… it was the only code he lived by.

^V^

Wayne Manor, May 3rd, 10:21 a.m.

"Master Bruce?" a voice called.

I had all intentions of ignoring Alfred's return. Selina, on the other hand…

Having returned to the Manor a little after six in the morning, I had not made it to my bedroom until nearly eight. Exhausted after a busy patrols on top of trying to put the latest murder into perspective, I had capped the night off with two hours in front of the computer, reproducing the crime scene and trying to find a connection between the three girls. When I had finally climbed into bed, I found it already occupied. Selina had rolled over the second I reclined beside her, burying her face into my neck while she slept.

Sanctity of Sunday, had been my final conscious thought before I joined her in slumber.

"Good morning Alfred," she greeted him warmly.

"Ms. Selina. Always a pleasure."

Although I was still in bed, she had risen an hour earlier to shower and dress for the day, claiming she had errands to run. Had it been any other Sunday, we would have spent the day together doing whatever we wanted. Instead, she was lying to try and keep me from feeling guilty over working…

"Shall I prepare brunch?" Alfred inquired, ignoring the fact that I had yet to acknowledge him.

"Oh, thank you… but I have to get going," she explained apologetically.

"Of course, my dear… perhaps Master Dick and Ms. Barbara will be willing to join you, sir…"

At that, I lifted my head and scowled at him, "What are you talking about?"

"Ah, yes… After taking Dr. Thompkins home this morning, I took a slight detour to the airport to retrieve them… they suggested a trip to the manor was in order given the tragedy that took place in their absence."

I responded, "Let me guess, on the way here… you _retrieved _Tim and Cassandra."

Alfred commented before leaving the bedroom, "Your deductive reasoning is to envied by all, Master Bruce."

Selina sat on the end of the bed just as I rose to my feet. After I disrobed and jumped into the steamy shower, she appeared in my peripheral vision. While I lathered my hair, I heard her say, "Well, I'm going to go…"

There was something in her tone that made me instinctively say, "No… stay," I let the water hit the crown of my head, sending rivers of suds down my face, "We'll have brunch."

"It's okay… Not too keen on listening to the shop talk while eating…"

Looking at her through the foggy glass door, I could barely make out her silhouette. Opening it, I stared directly at her, "Selina."

She shook her head at me, arms crossed over her chest, "Bruce." After closing the distance between us, she carefully wiped soap off of my face before kissing my lips, "Shower. Eat. Catch a bad guy. Plenty of time to fawn over me after that."

Reluctantly, I replied, "Okay."

She kissed me again before promptly turning on her heels and walking out the door.

Although the others were most likely gathered in the informal dining room after convincing Alfred to work his magic in the kitchen, I proceeded directly to the study and into the Cave. Without wasting a moment, I seated myself in the computer bay and went to work bringing up the file I had been slaving over for the last twenty-four hours. Since I had first donned the cowl, I had done my best to try and keep a distinct separation between the lives of Bruce Wayne and Batman.

Not only was it necessary to keep a clear mind while in the midst of dangerous situations, it also prevented the dark part of me from seeping into what normalcy I had. For years, it had been forbidden to discuss matters of questionable nature anywhere but the Cave but recently, I found my protégés slowly letting things slip through the invisible barrier. I had even started to let my guard down and I hated myself for thinking it was because of my relationship with-.

"Sir?"

I looked up to see Alfred's reflection on the monitor approaching slowly with a small serving tray. Upon setting it down on the workspace's counter, he proceeded to pour coffee from a steaming carafe, "So kind of Ms. Selina to keep you company this weekend."

"She was only here last night," I corrected him before taking the proffered mug.

Alfred then ushered the tray towards me, hoping to entice me to eat before the others came downstairs. A coconut croissant sat beside a steaming vegetable omelet and potato and ham hash. I hadn't eaten since Saturday afternoon and that had been turkey sandwiches and two apples. As appetizing as the meal looked, I had work to do.

Not yet admitting defeat, Alfred asked, "Will she be returning this evening, sir?"

I took a tentative sip of the dark roast before shaking my head.

Before he could inquire further, I heard the elevator doors open on the far side of the Cave, followed by Barbara and Cassandra's quiet voices. Not ten seconds later, footsteps raced each other down the granite steps, ending in a cacophony and Tim complaining, "Or you could not trip me."

My protégés were quick to gather around Alfred and I, each dressed as casually as any person would have been on a Sunday. Rather than ask how the wedding had been or if Tim had plans with his father and step mother, I rose to my feet and started bringing them up to speed. Alfred excused himself quietly, looking back once as everyone moved into action.

Barbara naturally moved to the computer to help bring up visuals on the massive display screen.

Cassandra watched on silently, studying the faces of the three victims, before and after they had been murdered.

Tim was quick to ask about the walk through of the crime scene from the night before while Dick brow furrowed at the meager list of practical evidence listed on the screen.

I was no longer home alone.

^V^

Residence of Peter Placido, May 3rd, 12:35 p.m.

Sundays were his only day off.

Unlike others that resided in the quiet residential borough of Nelville, Pete did not don his nice khakis and blue silk tie in the morning and attend any of the local places of worship. He did not race others to the market to get the freshest produce and be the first out the door with whatever was on sale. He did not sleep in until noon and rise, slightly hungover nor did he lounge around all day watching sports and drinking beer.

He woke, as he did every morning, at precisely 5:15 a.m. He put on a clean pair of socks, his running shoes, a pair of nylon shorts and a plain gray cotton tee shirt. He stretched in the kitchen, using the tabletop to rest his ankles upon as he stretched the backs of his legs. Then, he stepped out of the side door, locked up, pocketed the keys and proceeded to trot out to the sidewalk. Within eleven minutes, he would be a mile and a half away, jogging smoothly along a quiet county highway. Alone, always alone. He found that rarely anyone would travel this road at such an hour, the sharp curves and hills warding off early morning drivers.

After running his circuit, he would find himself at his doorstep just in time to take the newspaper from the local newspaper boy. Often, they would talk briefly, usually about how school was going and what exciting things were in the horizon of summer.

By seven, he was always showered, dressed, shaved and ready for the day. Over a cup of coffee, two spoons of sugar, two pieces of wheat toast, two eggs over easy and a bowl of sliced fruit, he would read the paper and listen to the news report on the television in the next room. That day, it was pineapple and sunny with clear skies and another front-page article about the newest slasher victim. It summarized the events over the last three months and reiterated what the police had come upon to that point. No matter how they dressed it up, there was no suspect in custody which was a worrisome thought for Gothamites.

On days he worked, once he finished breakfast he would always wash the dishes by hand, turn the television off and then lock the house before leaving. turned the radio to a classic rock station and stepped outside. Given that it was Sunday, he washed the dishes, shut the television off and then left the door unlocked as he stepped out into the warm spring weather.

Since it was supposed to be nice out, Pete had outlined the entire day with outdoor projects to spruce up his modest home. He tended young budding flowerbeds with fresh plant grower, fertilizer and weeding nuisance flora. Hands and knees dirtied, he then moved on to mow the front, side and back lawn, reciprocating a wave from one of his neighbors who was doing the same. Pete didn't know anything about said neighbor except that he was too fat and too lazy to mow a lawn properly and rode around on a lawn tractor.

The sun began to beat down on Pete just after eleven in the morning. Rather than break for lunch, he opted to hose off and wash both the lawn mower and his well used Jeep Cherokee. Once both were spotless and drying in the sun, he felt he was ready for a break. Opting not to track dirt and grass clippings in through the kitchen, Pete made his way through the garage entrance, immediately removing his soiled shoes and socks and leaving them in the small laundry room. As a second thought, he disrobed completely, putting every scrap of clothing he had on in to the washer.

As he measured dry laundry detergent, he heard them.

Setting the small plastic scoop on the lid of the washing machine, he listened carefully to the heated words that drifted down the corridor. They were arguing, just as they always had. Holding his breath, Pete moved slowly in the direction of the voices as they grew angrier.

"You treat like an infant, coddling him like a goddamned baby, locking him in the house all day… How will he ever grow up if you won't let him?"

"He's perfectly fine staying here with me, he doesn't want to-"

"You won't even let me give him the chance, all I wanted to do was take him to see the football game!"

"He doesn't even like football-."

"Hannah, I swear to God-."

"Why don't you take your whore with you and leave my baby alone!"

When he had first overheard that argument as a five-year-old boy, his father had promptly ended the argument by slapping his wife across the face. He had been just outside of the living room in their old house, peering around the corner as they screamed at one another. After his father had struck her, his mother had spent the remainder of the day locked in the master bedroom, sobbing. Pete had gone to the game at Hudson University and his father had bought him a football right there at the stadium.

The Whore had gone as well but Pete had pretended she wasn't there.

He had spent his whole life reliving his troubled childhood, not dwelling on how bad it had been but only because they were the only memories of his mother. There were good things he was able to recall if he tried hard enough but the bad ones surfaced all on their own.

Pete stared into his living room, frowning to see it devoid of life.

Just as he had been for a long, long time, Pete was alone.

^V^


	3. Fourth Time's A Charm

Title: Do Unto Others… : Fourth Time's A Charm

Author: DC Luder

Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.

Rating: M for language, violence and adult themes

Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.

^V^

Mimi's Bar & Grill, May 26th, 6:23 p.m.

"The usual?" Miranda, or rather Mimi, asked, "Or we've got a summer ale on tap."

Pete nodded as he took a seat at the glossy bar, "I'll try that."

Since he had returned to Gotham City eight years earlier, every Tuesday night, he ate dinner at the small bar. It had once been a quiet tavern known for its friendly staff and tasty food but over the years it had changed into something more. Flat screen televisions on the walls, ladies drank free on Wednesdays, trivia nights and there was stale popcorn in bowls at every table. Pete felt the place had been cheapened by such modifications but it wasn't his place to say so.

Tuesdays had somehow remained fairly quiet, offering draft specials after ten and buy one appetizer get a second half price all night long. Miranda had inherited the business from her parents, taking on her mother's nickname and acting as the manager and primary bartender. Pete had liked the original Mimi but the second had always seemed pleasant and polite, keeping rowdy guests in line and even kicking them off if needed. Pete had informed her he was a security guard and she had smiled warmly, "Well, at least I know I'll have back up on Tuesdays."

While waiting for his drink, he scanned the daily menu, only deciding as Mimi returned with a sweating glass. "What are you hungry for, Pete?"

He couldn't say what he actually desired, instead he replied. "I think the grilled chicken sandwich…a side of steak fries should do it."

Mimi nodded and said, "Probably be ten minutes or so… let me know when you want a refill."

Leaving him to place his order in the kitchen, she continued to tend the few other patrons sitting sporadically throughout the bar. Pete spotted a group of four in the booth in the back drinking pitchers of beer and eating chicken wings. Another three or so middle aged men sat at the bar with him, each staring intently at their poison. Craning his neck to the door, there were another two tables occupied by couples, sharing dinner and joy.

The food came out in eight and by then Pete had already drained his glass. Mimi refilled it, asked how he liked the sandwich and then left him alone to eat. That was what Pete liked the most about her, she knew when to talk to him and when to leave him alone. If only the rest of the world could do the same…

Pete ate slowly, enjoying the grilled chicken and alternating bites of it with crunchy fires and swallows of beer. Whether he ate at home or at the bar, dinner was often spent thinking back over the day. His morning run had been nice, the drive to the city okay and then a long, slow day at work. His only real purposeful act had been helping an older woman up the three steps into the bank's lobby. The day before had been even worse.

What had been different about that day was that he had submitted an application at Wayne Enterprises as a security guard. Working at the bank was tedious and annoying, at least if he worked at WE he'd be paid better and the surroundings would be nicer. The receptionist at human resources had been impressed by his résumé and had practically guaranteed him an interview in the coming month.

It brought a smile to his face, thinking about taking a step forward in his life, taking charge, taking action.

Seemingly a lifetime ago, Pete had left college a year short of a criminal justice degree, he had applied for the state police academy. All his life he had wished to follow in his uncle's footsteps and to become a police officer. He would have been able to make a name for himself and to prove everyone wrong. No one would dare pick on him or disrespect him if he wore a badge and a gun. Unfortunately, the academic advisor had turned him down, encouraging him to wait it out and finish his degree and then reapply in a year.

Pete had been waiting his whole life… if he wasn't good enough then, what would another year have done?

He had spent years afterwards wasting his life in one meaningless job or another. Returning to Gotham City had been the last time he had actively altered his life. For eight long years, he had sat idly by, watching the city grow darker and more disgusting. His mother had always said that Gotham had no soul and that it was where criminals, drug addicts and whores thrived. It was no place for her sweet boy.

Pete had promised her that he would grow up and be a good man, that he would never let one of them hurt him as they had hurt his family.

Thinking of that promise reminded Pete he needed to put flowers on her grave in the morning…

After finding a pen from his coat pocket, he found a spare napkin lying out on the bar and made a check list for the coming days. Since he never took vacations or used any of his sick days, the bank manager had personally encouraged Pete to take the remainder of the week off, making the long holiday weekend even longer. It sounded off for his boss to tell him not to come to work, but it wasn't Pete's place to say…

Oil change and car inspected

Uniforms to the cleaners

Flowers for Mom

Thinking of his late mother once more, Pete bottled back sadness and let anger toil his stomach. He then added to the list: Choose one

Mimi arrived with the bill, "What's that Pete, your laundry list?"

"I have the week off, need to figure out what I'm going to do."

She smiled, "Well, you are welcome here any night, Pete, not just Tuesday." Apparently her mother had never taught her not to pry because Mimi looked over the list and commented, "You are so organized… so mature… If I gave a list like that to my husband and he wouldn't get anything on it done…"

He shrugged and retrieved his wallet, giving her twenty-five dollars "Keep the change."

"Thanks, Pete… hey, what are you choosing, new carpet?"

He smiled and nodded, not wanting to verbally lie to her.

^V^

Residence of Selina Kyle, May 26th, 6:29 p.m.

"Ow."

"Sorry."

I was sprawled over the still made bed, face down as Selina's fingers kneaded into the minor and major rhomboid muscles of my back, relieving the dull aches that had been with me most of the day. Rather than going out, I had only time for dinner at her place after work before heading out for the night. After a light dinner where the conversation had been even lighter, Selina had orderd me to the bedroom.

"Selina… I have to get going."

She had pointed at her bedroom door before glaring at me. When that had no effect, she grabbed my hand, twisted back my thumb and added, "Please."

Surprisingly enough, she wanted nothing more than to work the kinks out of my back, commenting that she had seen how uncomfortable I had been sitting at the table. For twenty, blissful minutes there had been no sound in the room save for her sighing and my growling. She had just begun to work on my lower lumbar muscles when her cell phone rang from the living room.

Selina swore quietly, stepped off of the bed and went after it while ordering, "Don't move."

Knowing disobeying her would only lead in bloodshed, I opted to remain laying face down on the bed, trying to hear her muted conversation. As I craned my head around to look towards the open door, my vision was overwhelmed with a furry, gray figure. Selina had several cats, and as hard as I tried, I couldn't keep them straight.

"Vinnie?" I asked him.

He purred and reclined barely five inches from my face, watching me intently as he intentionally flicked my face with his tail. When I blew air at him he wasn't startled, but rather enticed to paw at my face. To avoid the outstretched claws, I rolled onto my side and instantly sat up. Selina always picked on me that I had no affinity for animals and seemed to instigate trouble whenever I encountered them.

Then again, most animals I encountered were vicious personal protection dogs…

"What did I tell you?" Selina asked as she returned to the bedroom.

I pointed at the cat and declared, "He started it."

She sat next to me on the bed and turned to rest her legs across my lap. When I asked who had called, she replied, "This animal welfare committee I donated to in March… they want me on the board."

"Meow," I commented before leaning in to kiss her cheek.

When I went to move her legs off of me, Selina asked, "Leaving so soon?"

"I'm sorry… I'm not very good company lately. Probably better off being with Vinnie," I nodded to the cat.

"Tony," she corrected me. After a beat, she leaned in and put her lips to my ear, "Well… maybe next time we have dinner you can stay for dessert."

"Maybe," I kissed her cheek before rising to my feet.

It wasn't until I reached the door that I heard her response, "That's what you always say."

I could have ignored it and continued but I chose to not make that mistake. Instead, I turned to look at her, "I'll come back… afterwards. I promise."

Selina rolled her eyes but then smiled as she got up as well. Once she was standing in front of me, she said, "Well, I guess this is the part where I say be careful and you say that you always are, even though you're not."

I nodded, "Sounds about right."

She paused and looked me straight in the eye, "Be careful, Bruce."

"I'm always careful."

She paused, bit her lip and then whispered, "No, you're not."

^V^

Residence of Peter Placido, May 27th, 12:01 a.m.

"Done," Pete said aloud.

With a slight pause, he set his pen down and closed the notebook. It was a five-subject college ruled book; its cover was a slate blue. Within a few short days, it would be filled and he would be able to start a new book, of which was one of secret pleasures. There was something about writing on the first page of a crisp, new notebook that had always seemed so rewarding.

It had started way back when he was in grade school and his therapist told him keeping a journal would help keep his thoughts in check.

For three decades, he had written out his thoughts down in his own hand on countless of notebooks at the conclusion of each day. At last count, he had ten boxes filled with past journals that were stored in the attic. Pete wasn't sure why he had kept them considering he never read them after he finished an entry.

Pete put the notebook in the desk drawer and stood slowly, allowing his tired legs a moment to regain their strength. As he rose, his eyes glanced over the uncluttered desk until they came upon a silver framed picture. It was of his mother, her dark hair pinned back tightly and her too-calm face paled by the flash of the camera. It had been at one of very few parties that had been held in the Placido household, probably a summer barbeque or a birthday party. She was seated at the old red picnic table that his father had built and had allowed his young son to paint. The faint smile on her lips said something had finally made her happy…

She had been gone for twenty-four years to the day.

At the time, he nor his father knew what was wrong with her, only that she had good days and bad days. On good days, she would be bright and cheerful, always baking, cleaning or tending to the garden. She had always encouraged him to join her in such activities when she had a good day. And then, without warning, the bad days would come. She wouldn't get out of bed and would lay there and cry for hours. Nothing would get her to come out of it, not pleading, begging or even threatening. They simply had to wait until her next round of good days arrived…

Or at least Pete had waited.

His father had tried to deal with his wife's affliction but after a while his eye had begun to wander for someone who would be happy all of the time. He went in search for someone who would care for him, comfort him and please him. Pete wasn't sure when, but a time had come when his father was gone all of the time with his new friends, leaving his son home alone, kneeling beside his mother's bed.

Seeing how he was already writing down his thoughts in journals, Pete had been very careful to record her good days and bad days in hopes that he could find a pattern. It was partially accurate and when he tried to show his father how he had kept track of things he had been yelled at. His father had told him that taking notes wasn't going to fix her, that nothing could help his mother.

And then she had died and the records hadn't mattered anymore.

Pete found his legs had grown weak and allowed himself to sit back down in the chair.

He thought on how his mother hadn't just died, that it had been the Whore that killed her. That had driven his mother to the point of no return where her only option had been death. It had been the Whore that lured his father into the trap of a new marriage and had driven him to drink himself to death…

His mother had told him that they were all alike, that all the pretty young things were out there trying to break up families and make people do things they would never do. The day she had died, she had made Pete promise to grow up and be a good man, to never lay with someone like the Whore. The whore and her kind were very clever and alluring, always attracted to good men with good jobs and good lives. She had him swear that he would never become like his father, a drunk skirt chaser that had turned his back on his own family.

Pete was raised to be a good man.

He had never broken a promise in his entire life.

^V^

The Empire Club, May 29th, 12:01 a.m.

Karen laughed as she leaned over to yell in her roommate's ear, "He's still watchign me!"

Becca called back over the live band's music, "What?"

"He's been watching me since I came back from the bar," she shouted as she carefully glanced over towards him.

He was good looking, with check pluses in each of the tall, dark and handsome categories. Not five minutes earlier, Karen had been bumped into by a blatantly drunk girl. Barely keeping on her feet, Karen had accidentally nudged the man sitting alone at the bar and when she had apologized, he had smiled softly, "No… she should be the one apologizing."

Karen had given him a playful laugh and a quick thanks before returning to her table with a new round of cosmos. They had been trying to talk over the music, sipping their overpriced drinks and casually look back to her admirer at the bar. When he caught them looking, he smiled and nodded before faking interest in the band. Without a second thought, Karen finished off her drink and grabbed Becca's hand, leading them to the dance floor, "Come on, let's give Mr. Hot Stuff something else to look at!"

Graduation week was a blitz of clubs, bars and parties, getting one last hoorah in with her classmates before they all parted ways. After eight, long semesters at Hudson U and two internships at design firms in the city, Karen had finished her bachelor's in interior design. She had already landed a job at one of the firm's she interned for, Martine Design, with a great starting salary and benefits which was music to a college grad's ears. They even offered to help cover the cost of any work she put towards acquiring a masters.

For the last four years, she had lived off campus with her best friend Becca, also a design major. Since Becca had double majored in design and business, she still had another year and half before graduation, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to celebrate. They went everywhere together, the gym, shopping, the movies and the clubs. Karen's mother had loved how close they were because it made knowing her daughter living in the big city a little more manageable. Since she was going to stay in the city to work, they could continue living together, playing together and looking out for one another.

The band broke for a short break after three fast paced songs. Karen was starting to feel the night catching up with her as well as the continuous gaze of the man at the bar. She had been single for nearly two months after a mutual breakup. It was graduation week, the last week to be young and alive and Karen was tempted to go out with a bang.

She felt Becca lean against her and speak directly into her ear, "Go talk to him, I'll stay at Cole's place tonight."

"You think?" Karen asked.

"How could you say no to that face?" Becca teased.

After hugging each other goodbye and making promises to text after getting home safe, Karen fluffed her hair and headed to the bar. He was in the same stool as earlier, nursing a draft beer. When she was within two feet of him, he turned suddenly and tapped the bar with his knuckles, grabbing the bartender's attention. Karen took the stool next to him and smiled, "I'm Karen."

He smiled, showing perfect white teeth, "Dave. I hate to sound cliché but can I buy you a drink?"

Laughing, Karen nodded, "Sure. A cosmo, please."

After he ordered her a drink, he pivoted to face her, "Graduating?"

She nodded, "Yep. Interior Design… start my job on Monday."

"Congratulations," he beamed, "No wonder you're celebrating."

Karen's drink arrived and he raised his glass, "To you."

"To me," she grinned before clinking glasses and taking a long sip. Over the rim of her cocktail glass, she looked him over one more now that she was up close. His hair was short and slightly curly, the color of dark chocolate. Up close she noticed a slight scar just beneath his hairline but then her eyes traveled down his tanned brow, strong cheekbones and solid jaw.

He spoke suddenly, "I know it sounds lame, but do you come here often?"

Karen let out a laugh, "No, only for special occasions."

He smiled, "Very special."

She cocked her head and traced the rim of her glass with a finger. She then downed in order to summon the liquid courage to ask, "You want to go for a walk? Get out of here for a bit?"

He suddenly began to fidget on the stool and his eyes danced back and forth between her and the door. She began to wonder if she had come on too strongly, that was until he replied, "I could use some fresh air."

While he paid off his tab, Karen excused herself to the bathroom to freshen up. She had to fight for a mirror in the crowded room in order to touch up her makeup and apply a dash of perfume. Prepped for the remainder of the night, she made her way back into the bar's open room, smiling to see he had been waiting just outside of the bathroom for her.

Once outside, Karen filled her lungs with fresh air before looking to her new acquaintance, "I walked here with my roomie."

"You live close by?"

"No… we took a cab to dinner then walked over. We're on the other side of the park, actually."

He glanced up at the night sky before glancing to the busy street, "Well, we'll never get a cab here, maybe a few blocks up?"

Karen nodded, thankful that she had wore flip flops and not high heels. As they headed down the sidewalk, dodging smokers huddled outside of bars and groups of girls migrating from one club to the next, they started a casual conversation. She told him about her new job and how she had been celebrating all week long. He seemed very intent on learning about her, actually listening to what she said instead of tuning her out like most guys. When she asked what he did for a living, he told her he was a police officer.

"Really?"

He retrieved his badge and showed it to her, "Eight years now.

"Wow, that must be so exciting, in a city like this," she said, hooking her arm with his.

"It has its moments," he smirked.

They passed one of the side entrances to Robinson Park and Karen suggested, "Hey, we can cut a few blocks if we go in here and come out on Brady Ave."

The park was no where to be late at night as it was a haven to drug dealers and muggers.

But Karen felt safe with a cop at her side.

Her own knight in shining armor.

^V^

Robinson Park, May 29th, 10:45 p.m.

He changed his pattern.

He was more violent.

He was gaining confidence.

He had practically left the body out in the open, leaving it for one of the Robinson Park the groundskeepers to find it while collecting brush. Clearing fallen limbs from that week's thunderstorm, the primary witness was quoted noticing "something that looked like a glove… then I looked… and it was a hand."

I stood in between two large pines and watched as the remaining forensic technicians packed up and loaded their trucks. They had spent a majority of the day and evening at the scene, battling mother nature to gather whatever evidence they could. I had arrived a little after nine and had been listening intently to their muted conversations. Nothing obvious had been left behind at the scene, nor had anything been blatantly taken.

At least something had remained the same.

Entering the park had taken a bit of work considering each entrance had been blocked off and patrolmen were scouring the perimeter. I had to scale the ten foot stone wall nearly a quarter of a mile away from the crime scene, using the forage as concealment as I made my way through the park. Following a vacant, unofficial trail, I found sites of worn earth with evidence of small fires and empty beer cans. Passing between two large birches, I saw the words "Gatez of HELL" in green spray paint on each of them. Most likely the work of initiated youths from a lower ranking gang, but the message was still loud and clear. And truer than life itself.

The exact location where the body had been found was staked and taped off, each twig and leaf removed in order to expose every square inch of grass. Fibers and prints were next to impossible to locate outdoors but footprints were always an easy find. They had pulled a few boot prints from the grass and soil, a men's size eleven work boot, but the evidence had quickly been ruled out when the groundskeeper's footwear matched the print.

One tech had said it was impossible for the killer to not leave his mark behind.

I disagreed, knowing full well it was possible to vanish into thin air.

Before I had spent two hours standing in the dark cover of the trees, I had wondered if the killer was beginning to unravel, hurriedly killing his victim in the open and dumping the body with haste. The reality was that he might have been unable to contain the desire, but he was still more than capable of maintaining control.

As the readout on the lens display turned to 11:01, the trio of forensic vans departed as did the four squad cars. I had left Gordon a message asking the entire scene to be clear by eleven and I wasn't surprised that he came through.

I turned on a small flashlight as I stepped out into the open, "Oracle?"

She responded over the comm. link, "I'm here. Coroner's report came through. Tox screen showed alcohol but nothing else. Time of death was confirmed, still between midnight and two in the morning. There was practically no bruising around her throat, but the head trauma caused a subdural hematoma, probably would have died from that alone had he not-."

"Weapon?"

"The same. Smooth edged six-inch blade. Over thirty stab wounds to her torso and arms. Still, that's nearly twice as many as the last one."

"She fought back," I commented as I panned the light over the blooded grass.

"This is true… the girl was a piranha. They found blood in her mouth that was A positive, she was typed as B negative. She didn't have anything under her fingernails but she sank her teeth into him."

"He's always caught them off guard by choking them… he tired to stun her… from the look of the photos he used the butt of the blade… abrasions on her hands and knees…. She fell but she wasn't knocked unconscious..."

Twenty-four hours earlier, Karen Richmond was alive and well, out on the town for the night with her roommate. According to the preliminary report, the outfit she was found in had been a knee length black skirt and a sleeveless, low cut silk blouse. She had one flip flop on and the other had been found two feet away. When I had scanned the crime scene photos earlier that evening, I couldn't help but think that was what Selina wore practically every day…

I continued, talking more to myself than to Barbara, "They found her blood on the sidewalk… trailed to the brush. He didn't start stabbing her until he had her where he wanted her…" Looking back to the streetlight glowing nearly twenty yards away, I added, "He wanted her to be in the dark… shadow blacking out his face… he wanted her to be scared."

"How the hell did he do it and not leave prints?" she asked after a brief pause.

"The same way I would have… Heavy branches down… could have used them to rake over the grass, muse his prints… stepping lightly in the first place would make it easy enough to cover up."

"Real classy guy this one… he must have lured her in, no girl goes into that park alone after dusk," Barbara commented, "I've gone over the security camera footage on all of the entrances and nothing. Although it didn't help that one of them wasn't working."

I peered over my shoulder in the direction of the nearest gate, "State Street's south entrance?"

"Yep. Probably befriended her at the bar, went for a late night stroll to walk it off and he led her right into his trap… he must have known ahead of time that it wasn't working… it couldn't have been luck."

A fault in the system, allowing an innocent to become a victim in the blink of an eye.

I had her run background check's on all of the Robinson Park personnel while I perused the crime scene. While my eyes were getting to work, my mind was in overtime. Police had picked up the roommate, Becca Keller, midday at her boyfriend's apartment. After two hours of staggered questioning and crying sessions, she had divulged that she had last seen Karen at the Empire Club. She had said that Karen had left to go talk to a man at the bar that she had been flirting with off and on over the night. From there, she had spoken to the sketch artist and a very vague, undistinguished Caucasian male suspect was produced.

"Did they find the bartender?" I asked suddenly.

"Yes," she confirmed, "He had gone home with a girl from the bar, slept all day in order to get ready for his shift tonight. He said the victim and her roommate had been pouring back cosmos all night… and he didn't recognize the sketch of the guy at the bar, but then again he was doing the job of two people that night while the other tender was on a break… he wasn't looking at faces, just hands with cash in them."

I told her to keep me posted and to have Robin tour down through Bryanttown since I wasn't going to be able to. She offered to call in Nightwing but I declined.

News coverage, as with the other victims, was limited but filled with warnings of voluntary curfews and precautions. I had skipped a Wayne Foundation luncheon that day in order to lock myself in my office and try and get a head start on things. Just like the rest of Gotham, I was trying to find a needle in a haystack, a faceless boogey man who was lurking in the dark…

The sound of footsteps caused me to shut off my flashlight and take cover behind the nearest tree. Looking towards the approaching individual, I was surprised to see it was none other than Jim Gordon. I stepped out from the shadows, the closest lamp barely revealing me to him.

After pausing equidistant to me and where Karen had taken her last breaths, Jim looked in my direction, "This isn't good."

I didn't comment and waited for him to continue.

"Five weeks until the city's Fourth of July celebration and this sonofabitch is stepping out, testing the waters. I've got the mayor calling me every damn day asking about our progress and hinting that if this guy isn't caught…"

"Four victims. Three or four times that die every night in this city because of the gangs and mobs."

Gordon shook his head, "But the gangs and the mobs… they shoot each other up. They don't fillet young, pretty girls and rape them."

A moment of silent tension filled the air between us.

Anger was plastered over his tired face, anger at himself, at me and at the man who was hiding from us.

His gaze fell to the taped off plot of earth before scanning the dark, silent trees.

I finally spoke, "It was the only entrance with a malfunctioning camera. Damaged by storm."

"The groundskeeper checked out, had an alibi for last night."

"Need to see who else on staff doesn't."

Jim nodded before sighing, "I hate this damned park sometimes. I guess this will put a demand on us to patrol it again at all hours of the night. Like we're not stretched thin already… He had to pick on pretty, young women," a look came over him that suggested he was thinking about his daughter.

For a moment, Selina's face flashed in front of my eyes.

All we had was a vague facial sketch.

And four dead girls.

It wasn't enough.

It was too much.

^V^


	4. Mother

Title: Do Unto Others… : Mother

Author: DC Luder

Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.

Rating: M for language, violence and adult themes

Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.

^V^

First National Bank, June 1st, 5:25 p.m.

As the final patrons exited the building, Pete forced a smile to replace the scowl on his lips. When the lobby was empty, he proceeded to lock the entrances and activate the alarm system, leaving only the employee entrance to be locked once the building was clear. Thankfully, that was the later shift that supervised the after hour cleaning crew and late working employees.

The first day of business of the week always made for a busy day of watching account holders, guests and clients of the bank shifted in and out of the glass doors. There had even been a scuffle just after one in the afternoon where Pete had to escort an unruly gentleman off the premises after he had thrown a fit that his soon to be ex-wife had spent their savings. The man had tried yelling at him but Pete had looked down at him while issuing a stern warning to cooperate.

Something about the icy look in Pete's eyes had encouraged the man to comply.

The high volume day had been a welcome distraction for Pete. Unlike most Gothamites, he hadn't gone away for the weekend or attended a wedding or a family reunion. He had stayed home on his small vacation, tending to his house, his car and his extracurricular activities. Choosing one had been just as easy as it had been before, only this time, he had been unable to wait until he had reached more private surroundings to tend to his work.

As a result, she had hurt him, bitten him like a savage.

Like a dog.

It really wasn't that he hadn't been able to control himself, but that he could no longer bear the sight of the Whore that had been walking beside him. The way she walked and the way she touched his arm and the way she laughed had infuriated him. The smell of alcohol and too much perfume had brought bile to his lips and when she had asked if he carried a gun when he wasn't working, he had to shut her up. He had to rid the world of another vile creature that wanted to consume all that was good and leave the waste of evil behind.

He had caught her by surprise, hitting her with the butt of his hunting knife, and he had smiled as she stumbled to her hands and knees. He had been able to drag her off of the path and into the comfort of darkness, but in the process she had bitten his bare arm. No doubt she thought she would be able to fight him off on pure instinct and will to live.

Pete had seen to it that her will to live leaked out of more holes than he could have counted.

As with the others, his body had been on autopilot as he removed another predator from the world. His mind had always been somewhere else, always recalling the first time he had met the Whore. His mother had been in her room for three days with only muted weeping slipping out from under the locked door. Pete had come home from school, his pants dirtied after being knocked over by Jacob Drexler, the creep who had started the nickname Peepee...

All Pete had wanted was to crawl into his mother's bed and to try make her happy, in doing so accomplishing something that would have made his horrible day have a silver lining. Instead, he had walked into the living room and seen his father sitting on the couch with her. The Whore had sat beside him as if she belonged there, sipping from a glass of something amber colored, her fingers tickling the back of his father's head.

The Whore had smiled at him and said in a sickly sweet voice, "Hi, Pete."

He vaguely recalled his father starting to explain but Pete had run away and hid in his bedroom for the remainder of the evening. The next morning, he had finally emerged and was shocked to see his father making waffles and a big pan of crispy bacon, something he hadn't done since before Mom had fallen ill. Over breakfast, Pete had learned her name was Angie and that she was a good friend of his. His father had said that he would be spending time with Angie, at the house and in town and that she was going to be apart of his life from then on.

His mother had always referred to her as the Whore.

Pete was shaken from his reveries when he heard, "Ready to call it a night?"

He was quick to match the voice to Christine, one of the bank tellers. She had been the teller that had suffered the rude man's wrath earlier in the day and had profusely thanked Pete for his help. She had always seemed pleasant, but Pete thought she wore too much makeup, that she didn't need any to begin with…

The exception to the rule, he mused.

Pete nodded, "Doors are locked, system's on."

Christine grinned as he gave her a ladies' first gesture towards the back corridor, "Hard to believe it's only Monday… weekends always seem to go by too quickly…"

"Yes," he agreed, watching as she adjusted her purse strap.

After looking back at him briefly, she asked, "Enjoy your time off last week?"

"Yes… it was… refreshing."

"I bet… I'm trying to get the week before the fourth off, try and get out of the city for a bit… like you said, get refreshed."

He followed her out the back door and into the employee parking lot. As she paused before her silver sedan, Christine offered, "Well… I know you usually go home after work but… a few of us are going out for drinks… do you have plans?"

Pete nodded, "Afraid so…"

"Maybe some other time," she smiled before offering him a curt wave, "See you tomorrow, Pete."

He nodded once more as she climbed into her car and drove off. Alone, he resumed walking to his own vehicle, a two-year-old dark blue Jeep Cherokee without a single scratch on it. Outwardly, it was relatively unused but, under the hood its engine bore over two-hundred thousand miles accumulated from long nights if aimless driving. His father had taught him about maintaining a car in order to get the most out of it, one of the few things he had been thankful for.

It had pained him to lie to Christine, not because he cared about her but that lying was bad. He had no plans that evening, nor any for the rest of the week save for dinner on Tuesday. And yet, if Christine asked for him to join her and their fellow co-workers, he would respectively decline. He always felt awkward in social situations, stemming back to his youth. He didn't need friends, he wasn't pressured into fitting the normal lifestyle of the modern man. He had a quiet, simple life, one he intended on living in solitude.

It was better to be safe than sorry.

Pete took his time settling into the car, buckling in and checking the mirrors before turning the key. Giving the engine a moment to run quietly, Pete removed his name tag and carefully placed it into a spotless ashtray under the radio console. He stared momentarily, before looking straight ahead and pulling out of his parking space.

Having stopped at the gas station that morning, the car had a full tank, the oil had been changed the week before and the tires were perfectly calibrated with air. After navigating the crowded streets and avenues, fighting for space amidst the other hundreds of commuters, he finally made it to the St. James Highway, crossing the Westward bridge in order to flee the city. Pete fed the accelerator and cruised the four-lane road comfortably, with no destination in mind.

Eight minutes later, the traffic had become nonexistent as he crossed the Bristol Bridge. Soon, he was surrounded by quiet homesteads with long driveways and massive yards. When he went on drives, he liked to go where it was nice looking, where everything seemed in its place. Same for when he jogged in the morning, he found himself going further and further from his house, searching for something that felt right.

Having traveled every road, street, boulevard and highway in Gotham County, it had become second nature to be able to discern his location at any given moment, without the need for troublesome maps or electronic gadgets. He was uncomfortable traveling much farther than the county limits, often put at ease by the thought that he was out of his comfort zone. As a result, he mixed up various driving circuits in and out of the city before finding his way home.

Even before he been of driving age, Pete had memorized countless maps of Gotham and its boroughs. When he had moved to the city with his father over two decades earlier, his first two thought had been that he was going to get lost and he was going to die there. It had been after his mother had died and he was certain that his father was looking out only for himself and not his young son. When Pete had asked why they had to move, his father had vaguely explained that they needed to start a new life in a new place.

With the Whore as his new mother.

Due to his precaution and efforts, Pete never got lost in Gotham and was never in the mortal danger he had once feared. Even still, the thoughts were always with him that he would someday let his guard down and suffer an unmentionable fate. When he received a Swiss Army Knife for his twelfth birthday, he never went anywhere without it and regularly practiced retrieving it from his pants pocket. Even as a man grown, he never left home without a knife, although the new one was much bigger and much sharper than its predecessor.

Given the crime rate in Gotham, he knew many people had a pistol permit and carried a gun. He thought he would never have to own a gun until taking the job at the bank. He had tried to convince the bank managers that tasers or even nightsticks would be equally effective, but it was policy and it was required.

Pete hated guns.

Guns did bad things.

At ten past eight, Pete came upon an exit for the Hutchinson Parkway and took it, carefully checking his rear view mirrors. There was still a significant amount of drivers leaving the city so he kept his mind on his driving and not on his memories.

Not three miles from his house, Pete relaxed and allowed himself to drive with only his right hand on the wheel. He tried not to stare at the point on his forearm, where beneath the fabric of his shirt and an adhesive bandage his skin burned. It had reddened during the course of the day even though he had already cleaned and dressed it three times since she had bitten him.

Her filth had infected him. He suddenly wondered if she had been rabid, then dismissed the foolish and irrational thought. Rabid or not, she had been destroyed.

Within an hour or first seeing her, Pete had known that she would have done great harm if given the opportunity.

Just like the others.

Pete absentmindedly switched hands on the steering wheel and had begun to roll back his sleeve, picking off the bandage in order to reveal the bright red mark. Shifting his eyes to and from the road, he began to pick at the dried skin until a trickle of blood surfaced. He watched with a slight smile as the blood traveled in a thin rivulet across the tendons of the inside of his arm and then dripped off, landing in small droplets on his thigh.

The fingers that had removed the scab were bloodied and his smile suddenly faded as he thought of his mother.

As a seven year old, Pete had bore her blood on his fingers. At the time, he had only thought about how bright and red the blood was and how slick it had been on his fingertips. He had been hardly concerned with the fact that his mother was laying face down in a pool of blood and gore. At some point, Pete had put the pieces together, between the gun in his mother's hands and the gaping hole in the side of her head.

There had been a smile on her face…

His father, coming home late after a night at the bar with the Whore, had found Pete hours later… still kneeling beside his dead mother. He had grabbed Pete by the collar, practically throwing him into the hall and screaming for him to call an ambulance. Pete had risen to his feet, watching on as his father had started shaking his wife's body, calling out her name.

Pete had said, "Her ear is gone… she can't hear you."

His father had been the one to call for an ambulance and had gone with them and the police after loading his mother into a black bag. In the heat of the moment, Pete had been forgotten about and left home alone. Not that he hadn't made his own dinner and washed up and tucked himself in before, but he felt truly alone for the first time. His father had locked the master bedroom door before leaving, so Pete had resumed his usual post of sitting outside in the hall, as if his mother was going to call him at any moment.

So many years later and Pete still recalled staring down at his reddened fingertips for most of the night. He had wondered how much blood was on the floor in the room and worried if a vampire would smell it and break into his house and kill him.

Before he could drift too far back into the past, he found himself pulling on to his street. He had traveled the last thirty miles completely on automatic reflexes. To any other person, it may have been frightening, but to Pete it was interesting, if not amusing.

Very few things frightened him anymore.

^V^

Wayne Manor, June 2nd, 7:41 p.m.

Despite the fact that the Cave housed the basic exercise equipment that I used in my daily training, I found myself up in the Manor, burning away calories and my frustrations in the gym. I had never used any of the equipment, of which had nearly cost a fortune and was practically useless for any meaningful workout. So when there was a knock on the door, my guest had interrupted my fiftieth one-handed pushup on the hardwood floor.

"Figured you would be in the Cave," Dick's voice found me as I switched hands.

"You figured wrong."

He approached me, opting to stand a yard away. After a beat, he spoke, "Not going to ask why I'm here?"

"Do you want me to?" I countered without looking up at him.

He sighed, "I guess not… Well, I happened to be in town… figured I'd stay and help… Barbara said that you were doing some undercover work… at clubs, bars…"

"And?" I asked while mentally counting thirty-three.

"Well, I figured… since that crowd is a tad younger, that I could… do the undercover work."

I paused at forty-six in order to rise to my feet, "Are you calling me old?"

"Older," he smirked. "That and it will keep you on the streets looking for this guy instead of sitting on a barstool looking for this guy."

Before I could reply, Alfred appeared in the doorway, obviously relieved to have found me, "Master Bruce, if I had known that you had intentions of finally using this room, I would have given it a good scrubbing this morning." He stepped into the room and paused at a cycling machine and proceeded to run a finger over a handle bar, "Or least have swept the floor…"

For the last week, I had been on an impromptu vacation from work, focusing only on the lives of the prey in order to connect them to the predator. Alfred had grown weary of my constant, brooding presence and Selina had been insulted at me canceling time together to spend it in night clubs alone. Three of the four girls had an above the limit blood alcohol level and receipts in their pockets from a night of drinking. The high schooler had been the only exception, although she still had managed to captivate him…

I had been inundating myself with the gore and violence, trying to get a feel for him, trying to understand how and where he was choosing his victims. The common denominator had been pretty, young woman out having a good time. There were hundreds of others doing the very same thing each and every night, so why had they been chosen?

Taking an unplanned break, I paused to ask Alfred, "What is it?"

"Ms. Selina is leaving, sir." When I stared at him silently, he continued to explain, "Well, she has been waiting for over two hours… she instructed me to tell you, verbatim… that if you do decide to show yourself this evening that…"

When Alfred hesitated, Dick smirked at me, "Oh I can't wait for this…"

"Dick," I snapped, "Head down to the Cave… three disguises… take the undercover Camry." He looked insulted that he had been dismissed but did as asked, silently leaving the gym. I then asked Alfred, "Where is she?"

"Gathering her belongings in the den, sir."

I honestly hadn't realized it had been two hours since Alfred had informed me that she had arrived at the Manor. There had been no set plan for the evening and I had intended to torture my body before my mind. From the sound of it, Selina was willing to implement further pain. Hurrying into the hall, I wasn't surprised to see that Dick had been eavesdropping as opposed to making his way downstairs.

As I breezed by him, he raced to catch up with me, "You don't want to know what she said?"

I didn't respond until I reached the first floor, bearing left towards the den, "I'm sure it has something to do with medieval castration techniques."

"Ouch…" he winced before turning in the opposite direction, "Well, good luck with that, I'm going to go put too much cologne on."

I caught her as she was heading towards the atrium, using the front door for the first time in as long as I could remember. When I called out her name, she didn't respond verbally but opted to pause in the broad corridor.

"It was so nice of Dick to keep me company during dinner."

"I lost track of time," I explained as I moved to stand in front of her. She wasn't angry, or else she would have disemboweled me without a word. She was, however, upset. Upset over being once again brushed aside so that the scum of the earth could have every iota of my attention and energy. For my entire life it had been the very reason why all of my relationships had fallen to pieces, letting the little things accumulate to the catastrophic level.

"Dessert," I offered.

Selina shook her head, "I already had some. Crème brulee. It was divine…" she licked her upper lip for emphasis. A windy rooftop in Gotham or the hallway of my home, she always had a way of making her point.

"Dick is starting undercover work tonight… I'll go out later."

Selina smirked, "Thoughtful but you are already out there… in here," she added as she tapped my temple.

No, she wasn't upset. The green in her eyes said she was sad.

I went to reach for her but she stepped away, "You are sweaty and disgusting," she gestured to her dress, "This is Neiman Marcus."

"We better take it off, then," I offered, my voice and expression deadly serious.

The sadness in her eyes was suddenly lost to a flash of humor, "Don't you even think about it, I'm going to the Natural History Museum and stare at the African diamond display."

"They're closed."

Without missing a beat, she raised an eyebrow and asked, "So?"

She was teasing me, punishing me for ignoring her. I had to honestly fight back a smirk in order to reply, "I can't let you do that."

"What are you going to do… handcuff me?"

I stepped forward, not giving the opportunity to step away as I latched onto her wrists, pinning them in one of my hands behind her back. Staring down at her, I growled, "This isn't a game."

"Yes it is…" Selina grinned brilliantly before kissing my lips and promptly stomping on my barefoot, "Tag… you're it!"

Although she only had a fraction of a second head start while I recovered, she was able to make it to second landing of the stairs before I was able to catch her. As a way of thanking her for he momentary distraction and the hole in the top of my foot from her heel, I tackled her and pinned her to the steps. In the pursuit, she had lost her shoes making her down a weapon, but she still had her claws…

Holding her hands well above her head, I glared down at her, "Tag. You're it."

She lashed out, biting at my neck while wrapping her legs with mine. We hadn't been intimate with one another, save for sparse kisses, in nearly three weeks. Her teeth holding my collar bone hostage, I leaned forward and looked to see the tag of the dress was not Neiman Marcus. When I pointed that out to her she released me and said, "No, but what's underneath is."

I helped her shimmy out of the dress, and I finally allowed myself to smirk. She wore a deep purple baby doll, the bodice made of Italian silk that barely reached the middle of her thigh. The meager amount of material covering her breasts had been nothing more swatches of intricate lace.

Selina smiled up at me, pleased to find me speechless, "See, I told you."

For three blissful minutes, it was just us. No killer, no Gotham, nothing. Her nails raked their way down my back after I let her hands go in order to place mine on her hips. My lips never left her skin, leaving me to draw air in through my nose. She bit my ear, I lapped at her neck. I growled something about going and getting handcuffs and she laughed heartily.

As I felt her fingers pulling at the waist band of my sweat pants, I heard Alfred calling up from down below, "Master Bruce?"

"Busted," Selina purred into my ear.

"What?" I snapped back, peering down the two flights of stairs.

He paled at the sight before him and cleared his throat before answering, "Sir, I do hate to interrupt, but your… services have been requested elsewhere." When Alfred looked to one of the large windows over looking the east wing of stairs, I did as well.

Being a quarter of a moon that night, the dark sky boldly contrasted with the Signal searing from Gotham City Police Headquarters.

Glancing back down to Selina, I found her eyes regaining the sad look from earlier.

When I opened my mouth to speak, she shook her head, "Don't… just go."

"I'm sorry…" I proceeded to say while rising to my feet. I offered to help her up and she surprisingly accepted.

"I said don't… just go," standing two steps above me, she was able to stare directly into my eyes. Leaning forward, she kissed my cheek before speaking into my ear, "I'll stay tonight… Get home early enough and we can pick up where we left off."

She smiled but we both knew I wouldn't be home before dawn.

^V^

Mimi's Bar & Grill, June 2nd, 8:35 p.m.

Leaving Selina, I had raced down to the Cave to suit up, finding Tim and Cassandra doing the same. Judging from the disarray on the training mats and the sweat on their faces, they had been sparring. I had ridden down in the Mobile with Robin, leaving Batgirl to follow after us on a cycle. There had been no need to contact Barbara to know that another body had been found for it was the only reason Gordon would have contacted me.

Arriving at Police headquarters, I had told Robin to begin patrols and to rendezvous at the clock tower at midnight, unless otherwise noted. He had watched on as I fired a grapple to the rooftop and when I looked to him, he had said, "It's too soon, right... He couldn't have done it again, already."

I had no response for him, so I had opted not to give him one.

Gordon had been on the rooftop waiting and I had bypassed sneaking up on him in order to simply land on my feet in plain view. He had turned off the spotlight before swearing under his breath, "Looks like he's after middle aged women now."

He briefed me on the latest victim, Michaela Castle, a thirty-six year old divorcee. A copy of her driver's license in the thin file Gordon had handed me was actually flattering, making her look much younger than she had been. She lived alone in a shady area of the Village in a studio apartment and had no current relationship according to her former husband. Regrettably, she had been last seen exactly where she had been found, at a small bar she often frequented on weekends but had gone to that night to pre-game for a lingerie party at a friend's house.

Gordon had explained, "Only a bartender and the owner working, less than a dozen customers that night. Nice little place, never get any call from there, owner keeps the dirt bags out so that everyone else can enjoy themselves."

From the sounds of it, someone had enjoyed themselves too much.

"I'll have forensics out of there as soon as I can… did you want to talk to the owner and bartender?"

I had nodded.

"Figured… closest thing to witnesses we're going to get… I'm heading there now, I'll have the detectives hold them until you get there."

I looked at the address of the bar and realized I passed it nearly every night.

If I had gone on patrols earlier…

On the ride over, I had contacted Barbara in order to see if she had anything else for me. The police had actually been working off of private radio frequencies in order to keep the press from getting wind of things. She had added, "Dick hasn't found anyone matching out guy, but he has been calling in lots of pickups for GCPD. Drug possession, assault, some muggers and would-be rapists."

"At least one of us is making progress," I had growled.

"Want me to call him in to help?"

"No," I had countered, "He's probably more helpful doing what he is now..."

Cutting the connection, I had started to think that his killing so quickly again was a sign. The boldness that had allowed the killer to attack in the open with the last victim may have been the opposite, sheer panic and brashness. He might not be under as much control as I had first thought.

Reaching the scene, I found the primary focus was a secluded corner of the parking lot, brought to life with flood lights. Even from across the street I had been able to see the blood spatter on the pavement and exterior of the building. Driving around the block, I spotted Gordon standing just outside of a service entrance with a brown haired woman and a tall, blond man. After finding a secluded spot to park, I had made the venture back to the bar on foot. Announcing my presence once I was within sight, I growled, "Gordon."

He nodded while the other two were visibly startled. My work had required me to question a broad range of witnesses, from small children to convicted felons. For the police, it was easy for people to blatantly lie to, but it was a completely different story when I was asking the questions.

After introductions had been made, I was surprised to find the young woman to be the owner where the man was only a part-time bartender. I was quick to ask precise questions about the victim, although the answers I received had been significantly vague.

Partly because there wasn't a lot to say but mostly because they were afraid.

The victim had been there four nights a week on average given that the bar was centrally located between her apartment and the residences of her friends. The women often gathered for drinks and dinner, always under tipping consider how particular they were about their drinks. That night she had been there alone, on her way to a friend's after having a few drinks alone.

No. Not alone.

RJ, a bartender for most of his adult life, responded, "She tips me well… she likes me. I mean, I try not to flirt with the customers, my wife hates it… but she always seems so desperate for attention, so lonely… Tonight was no exception."

"Did she interact with anyone else?"

"No.. they guys that were here tonight are older regulars, between their early forties and late sixties," Mimi explained, "Most of them come here for a few drinks, something to eat before heading home to their wives."

"I want names," I growled.

"You don't think that… one of them…" she shook her head, "No way… I don't allow that type in here… these guys have been coming for years, I would know if they were murderers."

"Names. Now."

She told RJ to run in and print off a list of credit card payments from that night. While we had waited, Gordon asked, "What about people who paid cash?"

"There were only like three or four of them… There's the McAllsiters, Douglas and Cathy… older couple, they were friends of my parents, they have to be in their seventies by now… Fred.. Winslow, I think… he dropped by for a beer but he left long before Michaela showed up… Pete… god what's his last name… he works for the first National Bank. Guy's been coming here for eight years, I've never seen him even looking at a woman.. I think he's… y'know… Any rate he was out of there long before she was, he only comes for dinner once a week then goes home."

By then, RJ returned with a list of all credit card purchases made that evening, offering it to me with a shaky hand. After inquiring about the people that had paid in cash, RJ offered the same names and descriptions as well as when they had departed for the night. There was a possibility that it was a copycat effort but a look at the scene and autopsy report would have the final say.

Gordon nodded before ushering the pair into the building, promising that they would only be held for another hour at most. I took the opportunity to climb onto the roof in order to observe from up above as the crew diligently searched below. Once situated, I read the names of the patrons to Barbara and opted to sit and wait until she had results from running them through VICAP and state criminal records.

It was a ten minute wait that had been for nothing.

"Absolutely nothing," Barbara finally responded, "She honestly does run a clean bar, had two police calls there in the last ten years, both for after hour burglaries. No one on that list has anything on them aside from parking and speeding tickets."

After she had given me the less than desirable news, I asked her to look into neighboring businesses and residences as well as the police call list for the last five months. Closing the connection, I heard footsteps softly approaching from behind. Without looking over my shoulder, I said, "I told Barbara to keep you undercover."

Nightwing paused to stand beside me before answering, "I needed to stretch my legs… and I really couldn't handle another faux G and T… I don't know how you can sit at functions and drink just tonic water all night long…"

There had been a long stretch of silence after that.

"Is it him?" he finally asked.

Recalling what I had overheard from the technicians below, I reiterated, "No fingerprints yet. No boot tracks… blood appears to belong solely to the victim given the spray pattern. Not even a blood trail leaving the scene. Body was still warm when the bartender found her."

Another minute passed before he remarked, "It was different last time, something must have happened to make him do it again so soon…"

Something had happened.

And it had happened again

And it would happen.

Again.

And again.

^V^

State Highway 34, June 15th, 11:03 p.m.

"Idiot," Pete mumbled to himself.

He had called himself that and other similar names seemingly nonstop over the last two hours. To an outsider, it would have seemed as if he was hurling insults to his fellow drivers as he battled traffic leading out of the city. They were going home to their families, Pete was trying to escape his foolish mistake. In order to calm himself, Pete had tried to convince himself that it was a normal drive, just like the thousands of other times that he had gotten behind the wheel.

It would have worked had his hands not been slick with blood.

When he had left for his Tuesday night dinner at Mimi's, he had no intention of choosing one. It had been the last thing from his mind, actually. He had his usual drink, his usual dinner at his usual stool. Everything had gone smoothly that day at work and he had been looking forward to a quiet night out before going home to write, shower and sleep.

The bar had been practically empty, minus a few other regulars that were seated at the various tables and stools. No, there had been someone new. A leggy, busty blonde in her mid-thirties. She smoked like a chimney while drinking wine spritzers and flirting with the male bartender, RJ. RJ had a family, Pete knew that and if this Whore had she obviously hadn't cared. He had two kids with red hair like their mother's. Pete had seen pictures of their Halloween costumes for years.

Pete had tried to ignore her through the night, sharing a brief chat with Mimi before focusing on dinner. The Whore's laughter had been unbearable as the alcohol settled into her bloodstream. Pete had watched her intently from the corner of his eye as she leaned unnecessarily forward in order to show off her cleavage to RJ. When she had finished the bottle of wine, RJ had said that her last drink was on the house.

It had taken all of Pete's willpower to eat his angus burger instead of grabbing the empty wine bottle and bashing it over her head. He had to practically force food down a dry throat and had to convince Mimi that everything had been perfectly cooked and that he just wasn't feeling good. Mimi had brought him a glass of water instead of a second glass of beer, telling him that she would wrap his meal to go.

"Thank you, Mimi," he had said in between swallows of cold water, "Just… been a long day."

She had smiled as she carefully placed his burger and fires into a Styrofoam container, "Well, I hope you fell better, Pete… I hate to say it, but you look awful…"

Pete had then looked straight ahead into the mirror behind the bar. His usually tan skin had appeared white and he had been covered in a cold sweat while his hazel eyes danced back and forth. Mimi had asked if he felt okay enough to drive home and he had said, "I'll be okay… Just need to go home and lie down for a bit."

When he had tried to pay, Mimi had smiled, "Don't worry about. Get some rest."

Leaving the bar, he had to walk behind the Whore, causing his blood to singe in his veins.

Thankfully, Pete had parked in the rear of the small gravel lot and his dark vehicle was practically invisible to the sober eye. One by one, the bar had emptied, the last patron to leave being none other than the Whore. RJ had ushered her outside, telling her he would calla cab for her if she wanted. She had kissed his cheek and smiled, "You are so good to me… I've got my girlfriend picking me up, though."

"Okay, well if you need a cab, just come back inside. Don't fall down," he had joked before heading back inside.

He had watched her as she slowly stumbled around the parking lot in a loop, clumsily dialing her phone and complaining out loud when no one would answer. Pete had felt the knife tucked into his back pocket before wiping his face dry and stepping out of his car.

"Do you need a ride?" he called out.

She had spun around slowly before smirking, "Hey, you're that guy… Pete, right?"

He had nodded, "Yes… I came out here… Took a nap in my car…"

She had laughed, "Slept it off, hunh? I'm going to this party… if Amber ever answers her phone…"

"Where does she live?"

"Bryanttown… kind of a hike… no way I'm paying cab fare…" she had laughed again.

"I live near Bryanttown Park," he had lied, "It really wouldn't be a bother."

The Whore had paused briefly before replying, "Mimi said you are such a good guy… After you left, she seemed worried about you… Really likes you."

Staying somewhat covered by darkness, Pete had replied, "I've been coming here a long time… even when her parents owned it."

The Whore smiled at him once more before walking towards his Jeep, "Okay… if it's not a problem."

"I insist."

"Sure as hell isn't safe to be standing in some parking-."

As she passed him to get in on the passenger's side, Pete locked his arm around her throat before kicking her legs out from under her. She had already been unbalanced, and when she had gone limp, Pete had let her fall to the ground with his arm still snaring her. She had weakly tried to claw at him but she had been too drunk and uncoordinated, blindly slashing out into the darkness.

Tired of her pointless efforts, Pete had tired to pin her hands down above her head as he grasped her neck with he free hand but had inadvertently broken her wrists. As silent gasps had escaped her lips, he released her hands in order to retrieve his knife. Kneeling over her, Pete had growled, "He has a family.. He doesn't need you, whore."

As wet, choking sounds came from her lips and Pete had decided to silence her for good.

Even after she had been nothing more than bloody remains, Pete had thought her eyes were looking up at him, pleading for mercy. He had never been granted mercy as a child, especially when another pretty blond thing had ruined his life…

It was after that he had realized how foolish he had been. How much of a mess he had made. Pete had thought the same after the last one, another one he had taken out in the open and so vulnerable. "Idiot," he had muttered while shaking his hands off, letting blood fly off of his hands.

Hands he had always been self-conscious of, marred by smooth scars after burning his hands on a hot plate, trying to make dinner for his mother…

Such a mess… so much blood…

Just like his mother.

No, never like his mother… she hadn't deserved it, the Whore had.

The ensuing hours had been spent driving around and yelling at himself, taking a long, mixed route to his house. The blood had finally congealed, leaving his hands sticky and hot. Finally pulling up his drive, Pete opted to park in the seclusion of the garage and enter the house from the side. That way he wouldn't track a mess in.

Pete stripped down to nothing, putting everything had had been wearing into two brown paper bags. He then used the utility sink in the garage to wash his hands, arms and face, a precursor to a much needed shower. Pete put the bags with a pile of empty cardboard boxes that needed to be burned the next morning anyway….

Finally stepping into the house, he breathed a sigh of relief. That was until he heard her calling his name softly.

Pete's hands flew to his temples and rubbed vigorously in an attempt to shake the voice from his head. A futile attempt, for a moment later, the voice returned, "Peeee-ter."

"No," he shook his head, but instead of heading to the bathroom, he followed the voice to the spare bedroom, it's door always locked shut, just as his mother's room had been.

Whenever his mother had been about to come out of period of bad days, she would find the energy to call for him. Usually, he would have to fetch her a glass of water or get her the ebony handled hairbrush from her dresser. He had always obeyed whenever she had called for him, not knowing when she would feel well enough to spend time with him again.

As she began to feel better, she would talk for hours, her voice so quiet and even.

Pete pressed his ear to the guest room door and heard, "Peter, tell me. Where is she?"

"She's gone," he mumbled softly.

"She's what?"

He repeated himself with more conviction, "She's gone."

A dry laugh echoed from within the room, "She can't hurt anyone now, can she?"

He shook his head in response, his mind looking back to the pleading eyes from earlier that evening.

The voice continued, "Peter, you are my good boy. My special boy. Always looking out for me…"

"Always."

"You make me so proud."

He felt a tightness in his chest as he listened to his dead mother's voice. His breaths became ragged and he did his best to choke back the tears. As his cheeks grew wet and hot, he retreated back down the hall and into the bathroom.

After he showered, after he wrote in his journal, then he would sleep.

Then he would dream of his mother's happiness.

^V^


	5. Luck Run Out

Title: Do Unto Others… : Luck Run Out

Author: DC Luder

Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.

Rating: M for language, violence and adult themes

Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.

^V^

First National Bank, June 17th, 8:31 a.m.

When Pete had woken to the sound of a car driving by, he had instantly known that he had overslept. What he hadn't known was that he had overslept by nearly two hours.

To any normal person, it would have been an opportune time to curse and then quickly try to fit all the morning rituals into less than fifteen minutes. But he wasn't a normal person. He hadn't slept in since he was a child, and that had only been a result of the sedatives the doctors gave him after his mother died…

If Pete had woken up on time, he would have been able to go through the motions of his morning routine. The long run would have settled his triggered nerves, letting him maintain a calm façade for the day with ease. He would have been able to sit and relax after showering and getting dressed, treating himself to breakfast and the newspaper as the weather and traffic played over the radio. The ride into the city would have been busy, as always, but he would have made it fifteen minutes early and be one of the first to clock in. A quiet, typical morning made it possible for him to start the day on a balanced foot, not having to juggle or worry or grow anxious over all of the things that haunted him.

But hadn't woken on time. He had no time for a run or a meal, barely enough for a shower and a shave. Pete had driven in blind on a traffic accident on the parkway, the estimated time on the overhead board declaring that getting into the city would take up to nearly two hours. Before leaving the house, he had already phoned the bank to make them aware of his tardiness, but his estimated time of arrival had become a joke. They would stare at him, they would whisper and wonder…

And during the two hours he spent amidst hundreds of other taillights, Pete gripped the steering wheel, tightening and loosening his hold as if he were slowly choking it. Futile horn honks echoed in his ear, the exhaust of tailpipes filtered into the Jeep and a headache quickly began throbbing in his temples.

He knew if he allowed himself to lose his temper, his already marred day would be entirely ruined. Instead, he apologized for his behavior to the silence of his car. He apologized to himself for his lack of self control. He apologized to his mother for being weak, for not being a better man.

With his focus elsewhere, whenever the traffic inched forward, he would remain idle and it would take a few horn honks to bring him back.

Just before the turnoff for downtown, he was held back by an officer who had the regrettable task of overseeing the scene of a three care motor vehicle accident. While rescue and cleanup crews worked behind the marked off area, the officer was enforcing everyone who had not yet merged left to do so in an orderly fashion. Although Pewte had already done so, he was motioned to stop to let another car in head of him From behind him, drivers unaware of the situation blared their horns angrily and shouted out their windows. It wasn't Pete's fault. He had to remind himself that it wasn't his fault and they didn't understand and...

He glanced in the rear view mirror to see a woman behind him in a red sedan as she pounded on her horn, her face furious and shouting something.

She didn't understand, it wasn't his fault the officer told him to…

"Move, ass hole!" she finally called out her window, even though the officer was in plain sight.

In conjunction with his oversleeping, lowered control and tardiness for work, he leaned out his window and called back, "I can't, you stupid whore!"

Her face waned in shock momentarily, then returned to its previous scowl as she flipped him off.

Pete drew in oxygen hungrily before undoing his seatbelt and opening his car door, growling lowly to himself. It was only as his foot touched the pavement that he realized his poor choice of action, a direct result to everything that had gone wrong for him that morning. That month. His entire life.

"Sir, get back in your vehicle!" the officer shouted.

He glanced back to him, immediately apologizing, although this time to a real person. Although his headache had already been pulsing, his blood coursing through his veins suddenly joined it, matching the tempo. Back in his vehicle, he belted himself in and put his hands back on the steering wheel as the officer glared at him from his post. A moment later, he directed his attention to stopping the right lane of traffic before encouraging Pete forward.

As he passed by, the officer watched scornfully as he ordered, "It's a bad day for everyone, sir. Watch yourself."

Pete nodded as he inched by, "Yes, sir, I'm sorry."

When he stepped through the employee entrance at the bank, exactly ninety-one minutes late for work, he had yet to regain his normal and balanced state of mind. After clocking in and seeking out his manager to inform him of he had arrived, Pete was still unable to relax, or at least get his heart rate to. He was never comfortable in overtly social settings, but he had learned to adjust to his work environment, finding no threats in any of the other people. There were no women that were like her, there was no one that teased him or would hurt him…

Unlike when he was a child, when he had to fight with every fiber of his being to maintain control in order to ignore the harassment of his peers in order to survive the school day.

Pete diligently fulfilled his obligations for the day, watching over the bank lobby, taking down notes of his activities as well as the mid-month peer review for when employees had to make comments on each other. It was supposed to be confidential but it wasn't hard to differentiate handwriting or the complaints.

As he sat for a brief lunch break, he felt an uneasy sensation in his gut, similar to one he had been fighting with for months. It was different than a stomach ache or the growl of hunger or even dread. It was a feeling that he first felt as a child, one that stirred when he had heard the Whore's voice for the first time. For years and years it had laid dormant but over the course of the last few months, it had kept surfacing, gnawing at him from the inside out. Taking them had temporarily sated it but recently it had flared up nearly every day and nothing seemed to quench it.

Setting his turkey sandwich down on its wax paper wrapper, he realized something was wrong.

There was a reason he had slept in, why he had been aggravated by the woman in traffic and why he was being physically and emotionally.

It was his mother's way of telling him that something was wrong.

Was he not fulfilling the promise he had made her? Was he not meeting her expectations? Things had been going so well for so long, why would she change her mind…

Was it not what she wanted?

He knew what he did to them was illegal and morally wrong, but their punishment was a reflection of what they were since blood thirsty predators didn't deserve a peaceful end.

No… that wasn't it.

She must have been upset because he was enjoying the actual task instead of being fulfilled by simply keeping his promise. When he took control of one of them, it felt so right, so gratifying. So justified. It was his duty to make sure no one had their lives ruined as his had been. His mother had never told him how but they way she had encouraged him over the last few months had lead him to believe he was doing the right thing.

"Peter," a whisper registered in his mind, "Look what she did to me…"

He closed his eyes and focused on the sounds of his own pulse jumping instead of the voice of his dead mother.

"Peter…"

Pete was doing the right thing. They brought it on themselves. They would do horrible things if he had let them.

He felt a hand on his broad shoulder before hearing a soft voice, ""Hey Pete, you okay?"

Looking up, Pete blinked hard and found Christine taking a seat at the break room table, dressed in a dark skirt and coat with a soft smile and concerned eyes.

"Just… a headache."

"Bummer… Is that why you were late? I missed you this morning."

Pete shook his head, "No, I… It was the traffic. The accident."

"Right, I saw that on the news this morning, crazy wasn't it?"

He nodded as he felt his throat tighten, thinking of that vile woman that had screamed at him.

Pete suddenly was aware that Christine had been waiting for his response, which he quickly forged, "Yes, it was… Figured… I had a late start to begin with."

She nodded, "Me, too, it's always hard for me to get moving on a Wednesday morning. Didn't even get to eat breakfast."

"Me either," he said while looking at his uneaten sandwich. He had put it down when his stomach had turned on him, but it seemed to be ebbing.

Christine was not one of them, he told himself.

She dressed appropriately, acted like a decent human being.

She would never do the things they would…

She was an exception to the rule.

^V^

Wayne Enterprises, June 17th, 6:21 p.m.

"I take it you are done for the night?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Lucius entering my office, a sad smile on his face.

I, on the other hand, was lying on the leather couch in the rear of my office with anything but a smile gracing my lips. I had shed my coat and shoes over an hour earlier and loosened my tie substantially. After a vigorous night of patrols followed by an equally taxing day or portraying CEO Bruce Wayne, I was beyond spent. Driving to Bristol after work would have led me to the Cave, not my bedroom, thus the impromptu nap in my dark office.

Forcing myself to sit up, I nodded, "I was done a long time ago."

"Well, I'm leaving. Daughter's sixteenth birthday dinner."

That forced a smile to my face, "Well for once, you've got more planned for the night than I do."

"Is that so?" he asked as he stepped forward, "No dinner at the Ritz? No binge drinking on State Street? No private fashion show?"

"If only, Lucius…" I rose to my feet, wishing his daughter well, "I should have remembered, or at least gotten her something."

He unearthed a key ring from his pocket and nodded, "Don't worry, you did."

"Hey, what can I say, I'm a nice guy," I joked.

Lucius nodded before he stepping back into the hall, "Goodnight Bruce."

"Night," I replied softly.

After drawing in a deep breath, I stretched my back and rolled my neck, forcing myself to gather my belongings to make the trek to the Manor. In less than an hour, I would be right back in the city, although wearing my other mask and tackling far more important things than where the shareholder retreat should be. I had found with each passing day, I was loosing my grasp on the predator I was hunting instead of moving in on him. Elusive and proficient as he was, it shouldn't have been that difficult to track him and bring him down.

Lately, I had begun to wonder if the distractions in my life were carrying over into my work. Regrettably, all that had changed in recent months was my relationship with Selina and felt as if that wasn't to blame in its entirety. I had started to wonder if opening myself up as an open and honest man had somehow altered my former way of thinking. If letting myself be vulnerable, however minute, had negatively affected me and my ability to tackle such a dark subject.

Interviews conducted at the bar of the last murder had yielded little, that there had been no unusual behavior and only regular patrons had visited that night. Detectives in charge of the case were already going through the motions of contacting and interviewing the bar patrons, hoping for anything to lead them in the right direction. It seemed unlikely that the killer sat at the bar, watching her and leaving himself an obvious connection to the victim and the scene of the crime.

But with the bodies piling up, nothing was out of the question.

Before leaving, I stepped into my private bathroom and stood before the bathroom sink. As I splashed water on my face, I heard footsteps making their way into my office

"Please, Lucius, I don't need a pity invitation…" I called out as I dried my face off.

There was no response, instantly making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. When I emerged from the bathroom, I did not see my second in command. Instead, I saw Selina leaning against the desk and staring out the floor to ceiling windows as night took hold of the city. The dress she wore was a dark shade of violet and shimmered in the overhead light, reflecting off of the glass surface of the desk. As I closed the distance between us, her perfume met me halfway.

I paused in front of her, obstructing her view. She glanced over me and her expression changed for just a moment, briefly taking on a look as if she was going to disembowel me.

Arching her brow, she stated, "You forgot."

While I quickly scanned my mental agenda, I realized that she had planned an evening out on the town, an attempt to pretend that every thing was normal and we were happy. Leaning against the desk beside her, I exhaled before replying, "No, I didn't forget. I was just distracted."

"No, you forgot… because you were distracted," she said. Selina took a moment to look up at me, trying her best to hide her disappointment with an understanding smile.

From the beginning of our committed relationship, we had agreed that we couldn't let the standards of normal people direct its course. We each led unique and complicated lives and combining them would naturally result in conflict, both of schedule and interest. In recent months, it had become significantly more complicated with all of my attention and energy focusing on work instead of play. Although she had tolerated it to date, I could tell it was growing on her.

Selina leaned into my arm briefly before sitting upright, "Don't. Don't beat yourself up. It was no big deal, anyway. Hundred year old impressionism pieces… overcooked calamari… Not important in the grand scheme of things."

I shook my head, "It was to you."

"Bruce, please, finding out who keeps killing these girls comes before me… and I'm thankful for that," she responded as she moved to stand in front of me, resting her hands on my chest. "Besides, you look like shit… I don't know if I want to even be seen in public with you."

Smirking, I nodded, "I understand."

Selina smiled as well, a true one gracing her lips. After setting a palm against my rough cheek, she suggested, "Well, I guess the our only real option is to go somewhere private…" she stood up on her toes in order to kiss my other cheek, "…no prying eyes…"

"Sounds good to me," I replied, without any hint of enthusiasm.

I felt as her fingers encircled my wrists, leading me to the door, "Hey, you know what I just realized?" She leaned into me as we walked side by side, "Don't you have a hundred old painting in your bedroom?"

After I cleared my throat, I said "It's only eighty-six years old."

Her lips grazed my ear lobe before saying, "Close enough."

^V^

Right Start Fitness Center, June 17th, 10:59 p.m.

Although they closed promptly at eleven, Mandy's cousin, David, worked nights at the front desk and had agreed to hold off on locking up until she was ready to go home. After getting off of work twenty minutes late, she had to rush through errands and her online course work before making it to the gym. She was working hard at maintaining a regular gym schedule, but had missed the two previous days trying to catch up with summer classes. Rather than hit the vacant weight room, Mandy had gone straight to the cardio wing, torturing herself on the elliptical for forty minutes before cooling off on the incline treadmill for another twenty.

Usually, she showered at home but given how sweaty she was, Mandy had braved it out in the locker room showers. Thankfully, she was the only one left and had full use of the private shower and all of the hot water to herself. As she hummed and lathered shampoo into her hair, she thought back to the nice looking guy who had worked on the treadmill next to her. She had been able to tell that he had started out long before her as his gray tee-shirt was matted to his flat torso with sweat. He had not worn any earbuds and had appeared to ignore the mounted flat screen televisions, simply motivating himself to run on sheer will.

She had taken a treadmill for to cool down with just as he began to slow his speed. When she had raised her incline, the grip bar on the side of hers had brushed against his towel, causing it to fall. Although she had made a reach for it, he was the first to grab it. She had apologized but he had only nodded in response.

Cute, but nor very social.

It had been that moment that one of the gym regulars, Kevin, had snuck up behind her, hitting her in the rear with his towel. Mandy had been quick to laugh at him and his antics. He was just as cute but ten times more social. He had even been quick to invite her to the Yogurt Café for a post-gym smoothie but she declined, still having a paper to finish and submit before midnight.

Kevin had pouted but Mandy had been adamant, "Face it, that's the only chance you'll have at tapping my ass tonight."

He had been quick to laugh before asking, "What about tomorrow night? We're all going to the new place across the street, Rage… Don't make me be the only guy there without a girl…"

"We'll see," she had flirted back. When she had looked to the man next to her to gage his reaction, she had been surprised to see he was gone. After scanning the room, she had admitted to herself that he obviously wasn't as interested in her as Kevin was. After she wrapped up her walk on the treadmill, Mandy wiped down the handle bars and made her way to the locker room.

After a long, much needed shower, Mandy shut the water off, drawing an eerie silence over the empty locker room. Not keen on using the provided ones, Mandy always kept two towels in her locker. Once she wrapped one around her body, she used the second to put her long brown hair up. Her flip flops echoed in the open space as she made her way across the tiled floor to her open locker and bag, carefully putting her shampoo and soap back in beside her sneakers. The smaller ones were free with membership but her cousin had upgraded her to the full-sized locker, no charge.

Packing her gym bag with dirty clothes and socks, Mandy finally let her hair down, tussling it with the towel until it was nearly dry. Hairbrush in hand, she walked over the sinks in order to tame it to being somewhat presentable.

She had her mother's thick wavy hair. When they had been little. David and Mandy had always been mixed up for twins out in public since his mother had always kept his hair a bit longer than necessary. The first day after high school graduation, he and Mandy had gotten drunk at a friend's house and they had buzzed his hair to the scalp. Since then, he had always kept it short but it was still just as dark and thick as ever.

David was like a brother to her, more so than her actual sibling. They had gone to high school together, to GSU together and lived not fifteen blocks away from one another. When she had asked to stay a bit late to wash up, he had rolled his eyes, picking on her for always taking so long to get ready. He had then promised to giver her a ride home, but only if she went to grab some late dinner with him at the grill and bar next door.

"Great, burn eight hundred calories and then you're going to make me eat it all back…"

He had shrugged, "Fine, you can watch me eat a steak, I don't mind."

"Ass," she had said after swiping her gym card through the reader.

Her mother had never liked her living in the city, but with Dave so close, she had learned to accept that her daughter was safe.

As she texted Dave to tell him to call ahead for a table, he locker room door opened and she called out, "I'm almost done."

The door closed and she quickly retreated to the locker again, donning her underwear while still wearing the towel.

Once she was dressed in the capris and black tank top she had worn to the gym, Mandy went back to the sink once more to dress her lips with a pink gloss and cover her eyes lids with a hint of shadow. Who knew, maybe there would be some cute guys at the bar.

Mandy bent at the waist and flipped her hair over, running her fingers through it once more to get out the remaining tangles. Although she was successful, she failed to stand upright in time to see the man from the treadmill approaching her from behind. If she had, she would have been able to scream or call for David or at the very least try to run away.

Instead, she went head first into the porcelain sink.

The only sound she made was the thud as her body hit the tiled floor.

^V^

Wayne Manor, June 17th, 11:36 p.m.

I patrolled directly by Right Start Fitness Center every night just before eleven. It wasn't an elaborate facility, more geared to young working adults and lower-middle classed residents of the city. The building itself was practically a perfect cube at just four stories tall. The apartment buildings that acted as towering neighbors shadowing the Center at night, making its rooftop a perfectly secluded spot to meet others at or if needed, to take a break.

I should have been there.

Leaving Wayne Tower, I had gone to the Manor with Selina for an abbreviated night together. On the way, Barbara had called my cell phone, asking if I was still heading out early. When I told her that I wasn't, Barbara had paused before replying, "Okay… well, Dick called, he said he had to do a prisoner transport to Blackgate… he offered to help out while he was in the city."

"He has his own to take care of," I had growled back.

Never one to tolerate my sour disposition, she had retorted, "I will be sure to tell him."

Click.

When we had arrived, Alfred had already been hard at work in the kitchen and was delighted to see he would be serving two instead of one. Since it had been a beautiful night, we had decided to share a plate of chicken Alfredo on the terrace off of the master bedroom. Alfred had also provided us with a bottle of Pinot Noir and a carafe of ice water but I had stuck with the latter. Selina had two glasses of wine before trying to lure me to bed but my mind was elsewhere. Again, she had been disappointed but hid it well.

When I rose to leave, I had kissed her brow, "You can stay if you want."

She had shrugged, "Maybe."

Without another word, I had left her sitting alone on the terrace.

Even after rushing through a warm-up and racing to suit up, I had been late in starting patrols. As a direct result, I didn't make it to that particular part of Glenville until eleven-fifteen. Barbara had called me the second it came over the scanner, but I had already been making my way down Bradley, the gym already blocked off by a score of police cars. There had even been an ambulance for the never to be twenty-three year old body inside.

I had already contacted Gordon on his cell phone, telling him I wanted the scene left untouched. Before I had hung up on him, he had sighed, "Give me ten minutes."

While waiting, I had then brought up Barbara on the comm. link, not to apologize but to get locations on the others. She replied in an even tone that Batgirl was in the Bowery and Robin was busy in the theatre district. I asked about Nightwing, she had disconnected the line. The last few months had been trying on all of us, but seeing it break her armor was unnerving. I thought for a moment that I shouldn't have been so cold to her but paused at the sound of approaching footsteps.

After using a fraction of my power of deduction, I greeted, "Nightwing."

"Sorry, am I cramping your style?"

Although I turned to face him, I ignored his remark, "Gordon's clearing the scene. Should be ready in five minutes."

"Think it's him?" he asked, a solemn look crossing his face as he stared down at the flashing lights.

"I hope it isn't."

"Why's that"

"Location wise, his isn't likeany of the others."

"What about the bar… or Robinson Park?"

I was quick to respond, "He stalked her from the club, lured her into the park to kill her. This is different. She was here, right out in the open. If it was him… he chose her, waited until she was alone and took her. Never making the attempt to hide his work."

Nightwing hesitated before offering, "A copycat would be just as worse."

I shook my head, "No… Copycats are sloppy, irrational. They don't have the drive or the precision as the original… We can catch a copycat."

"We can catch the original, too," he said without pause.

Always the optimist, something he had learned that from Alfred.

We silently waited out the remaining five minutes, moving only when a door slamming sounded from the side alley. I glanced down below to see Gordon lighting a cigarette while barking orders into a hand held radio. When I tuned into the scanner and was unable to find the correct frequency, I nearly smirked thinking that he was faking the angry dispute.

Setting a foot on the edge of the roof, I looked back to Nightwing, "Coming?"

"I don't know… I've got my own city and all…" he smiled at me.

Despite the fact that I had taken flight before him, Nightwing had landed on the filthy pavement first. I had used my cape for a controlled descent while he had opted for the faster route of jumping down the levels of the fire escape, miraculously in silence. When I landed a moment later, Nightwing had already announced our presence, drawing the commissioner's attention towards us.

"Been a long damn time sine I've see you in this city," he remarked, snubbing the spent butt with the toe of his shoe.

Nightwing shrugged before replying, "Figured I would make myself useful."

Gordon looked to me, "No one's been in there save for the first responders, a pair of patrolmen and the medics. Forensics is having a fit that I won't let them in, so we don't have much time."

I nodded curtly, letting him lead the way back into the building, Nightwing trailing me by two feet. Gordon immediately began briefing me, repeating details that I had already picked up from listening to the scanner in addition to those which had been kept quiet.

"He came at her from behind, stunned her by hitting her head against the sink… body was found in the showers, no sign of her being dragged, only visible blood is on the sink…"

I said softly, "He's too careful, he would have carried her."

Nightwing instinctively began looking over the locker bay that had the only open door and personal belongings on the bench. Gordon watched carefully as I scanned the room intently, not immediately heading for the showers. He had said earlier that body had been found propped up on a bench in a handicap shower stall, with icy water raining down on her and washing away any hope for fingerprints as well as her own blood. There was no rush to see her, or what was left of her.

As I studied the clean tile floor, looking for the faintest outlines of footprints, Gordon offered, "I have an officer with the employee out front, getting a list of clients as they signed in and signed out, also any new members or guests… faculty. He's the only one that has been here since just before eleven, everyone else clocked out."

"Last person to see the victim alive," I said quietly.

"They are cousins actually. She got here late, he let her take her time after working out instead of rushing her out so he could close up. Clean record save for some parking tickets. He's kind of a wreck, came in and found her when she never came back up front." He paused to clear his throat, "They were supposed to go out to get a late dinner."

I didn't say anything as I crouched down, carefully taking a scarping from a small droplet of blood that had happened to land on a black tile.

He continued, "Primary witness said he would come down to be interviewed, he just needed to get a hold of her parents…"

Rising again, I finally walked into the shower bay, divided in half with the left acting as an open area and the right divided into four stalls. He had chosen to leave her in the far left corner for all to see, aiming the showerheads directly at her. The water had been turned off, but they dripped in near tandem, their droplets hitting her bare shoulders.

It was him.

Same deeply penetrating stab wounds to the side, same slashes careening her torso, the only thing different was that instead of bruises around her throat from being strangled, she bore a mottled hematoma on her forehead. Faster, more violent and ultimately more efficient manner of disarming and stunning his victim. Making it easier to finish the job, or was he aware of the risk of taking one in public and how little time he had to-.

"I want to talk to the witness," I said before looking over my shoulder at Gordon.

As he quickly departed, Nightwing approached, "Nothing seems out of order with victim's personal belongings. Her last call made with her cell was to her mother and her last text was to a man named David about him calling ahead to get a table. Might be the cousin and their dinner."

"We'll see."

He went silent as he looked over the body sitting before us before replying, "In some way… I think this is worse than anything Zsasz … He's unpredictable and sporadic. This guy… he knows what he's after."

"Jesus…" we heard a sharp exhale from behind us and turned simultaneously. Gordon, along with a five-five tall dark haired man stepped into the locker room. Although the man was physically fit, he was fairly slight, more bicyclist than body builder. Our target was tall and strong, and the first word of his mouth upon seeing masked vigilantes would have been anything but that of a messiah.

Gordon ushered him over, "This is David-."

The young man suddenly bolted away, not because he was evading us but to race to the nearest toilet stall in order to throw up. While Gordon performed his civic duty, the man began sobbing about Mandy and how he was supposed to keep her safe in the city and how her mother would never forgive him. If he was a homicidal psychopath, he was also one of the greatest actors of all time.

Walking away, I told Nightwing, "Get the security tapes. Take them to Oracle"

He nodded and quickly made his way out of the locker room.

Gordon approached me alone, "I'm going to hand him over to the medics. Get him cleaned up. If you want to talk to him still-."

I shook my head, my eyes finding themselves aimed at the body once more.

The image of her pale skin, clean of blood that had already been washed down the drain, stuck with me for the remainder of the night, providing all the inspiration I needed to attack the city without mercy. Working alone, I toured every corner I knew to be overrun with scum and promptly cleaned it up. Oracle would need some time to work through the tapes, using a face recognition program to match those on film with the lists provided by Gordon. Knowing the killer, he would be on neither.

^V^


	6. New Recruit

Title: Do Unto Others… : New Recruit

Author: DC Luder

Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.

Rating: M for language, violence and adult themes

Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.

^V^

Residence of Peter Placido, June 19th, 6:45 p.m.

Having left work at six, Pete had the remainder of the surprisingly warm and dry evening to himself. The house was immaculate, the dishes and laundry all clean and with no one to feed but himself, he had a meal of grilled steak and vegetables planned for later in the evening. It was nice when things were simple and quiet, when he could pretend that everything was all right.

Even though they closed at seven-thirty, Pete decided to make an impromptu trip to the lawn and garden store a few miles from his house. The rear deck needed a fresh coat of sealant and he was nearly out of fertilizer for the lawn and flowerbeds. The clear skies scheduled for that weekend made it ideal for him to catch up on work at home. He needed to cast his troubles aside and work on getting life back to the normal routine he thrived on.

Since he knew the store's layout by heart, it took him minutes to acquire the correct amount of sealant cans as well as two bags of the fertilizer. Pete even had a minute to spare to look over the knives in the locked display in the hunting section. He rarely went that far back in the store, namely because it was where the guns were kept.

Approaching the only open register, Pete allowed a young girl to go ahead of him since she was only buying a bag of dog treats. She grinned and thanked him and Pete forced himself to smile softly. He had never liked dogs, even as a child. There had been on in his neighborhood that had always chased him when he rode his bicycle home from school. His father had done nothing about it save for telling Pete that he needed to start solving his won problems.

The dog had never chased him after that. In fact he had never been seen again.

As the girl in front of him diligently paid in quarters, he mused to himself that at young age, they were manageable. Everything about them was genuine, their smiles, their laughter and their intent. When little girls talked to little boys, it wasn't as a means to ruin the lives of others, it was only to be kind and sociable. Not that any little girls had ever talked to him…

Pete sighed as he mused that it was as they grew older that they became a threat. Certainly many of them were able to lead normal lives by going to school and getting jobs and starting families of their own. They were the ones worthy of living. The others, the Whore, the ones that infiltrated the families and destroyed them in the blink of an eye…

Or the rapport of a handgun…

"Sir?"

The male cashier looked at him quizzically and it was then he realized he had been holding up the small line. Pete also realized that he had been squeezing the cart handle so tightly that his fingers throbbed when he eased the pressure. Without another word, he paid in full with exact change and then quickly left the store, knowing for sure that the eyes of the accusing were on him. He didn't like it when people stared at him like that.

Once he returned home, Pete unloaded his bounty in the garage, donning a pair of deerskin gloves before dumping the fertilizer into a small wheelbarrow. From there, he went about spreading the fertilizer over his recently cut lawn, churning it into the rich flowerbeds framing the entire house and then storing the remainder in the garage. The work itself was tedious and time-consuming, contradicting the lack of his personal desire to make his property presentable.

His mother had always said that there was no point living in a house if you didn't make it a home.

At a quarter of eight, Pete stepped into the house, flecks of grass and dirt in his hair and a light scent of hard work surrounding him. He immediately headed for the bathroom, stripping before stepping into the shower. Pete listened carefully as the water streamed over his body, caressing him as it made its way down to the smooth basin of the tub. Looking down at his feet, he watched as the dirty water ran off of him before circling down the drain.

Just like her blood had.

Pete began vigorously washing his hair, letting the hot water bear down on him, driving suds into his eyes. He had to focus on something.

Anything but the girl in the locker room, how she had been like a limp doll in his arms. How she hadn't fought back, called for help, even as he stabbed her, as he had violated her… It hadn't felt right. He hadn't meant to render her unconscious, in doing so, he had been unable to tell her why she was going to pay, why he had chosen her.

He had failed.

"Peter…"

"No…" he whispered back.

"Peter… she didn't pay… she didn't pay for her sins."

"I'm sorry," he said softly, "I…"

"Peter… what have you done?"

How many nights had he stumbled into the bathroom in wet pajamas, doing his best to not wake them? When his mother had been alive, he had sought her out for comfort after an accident. She would help him wash up and would change his bed for him on her good days. When she was in a bad set, she would simply let him sleep in her bed. After she had died, his father had been less kind.

He shuddered suddenly, thinking back on the disappointment and frustration in his father's face and voice, "Jesus, Pete, this is getting old"

Pete had always apologized and his father had done his best to hide his anger as he stripped wet sheets at two in the morning. He recalled one time after they had left home and moved to the city, Pete had asked if he could sleep in his father's bed. Even though he could tell his father had wanted to say yes, the Whore had refused, calling him a filthy queer who could soil his own bed, not hers.

And instead of defending his son, his father had sided with the Whore.

"Traitor," Pete mumbled as water from the showerhead splashed over his face.

"But it wasn't his fault, Peter."

Shutting the water off, he nodded, "It was hers."

"It was hers," his dead mother agreed with him.

Fourteen minutes later, he was dry and dressed in a pair of green flannel pants. Despite his long day, during and after work, Pete had lost his appetite. He settled on a simple meal of grilled ham and cheese sandwiches and canned vegetable soup. While waiting for it to come to a boil, Pete had looked to see had had messages on his answering machine.

The first had been a message from a "Laura" looking for "Tom" but wasn't sure if she had called the right number. He deleted it and went on to the next.

"Mr. Placido, this is Alicia Wont at the Human Resource department of Wayne Enterprises. I was just calling to confirm your continued interest in applying for a position on our security team. We have an opening for an interview on the twenty-first at four if you are available. Please call to confirm at 800-929-6368, extension 787. Than you and have a wonderful day."

Opportunity has knocked, he thought to himself as he memorized the number.

Returning to the kitchen, he allowed himself a slight smile. He was scheduled to work until six, but with Charles Morgan "owing" him a favor, it wouldn't be too much of a problem to leave early. To Wayne Enterprises. As with a good chunk of Gotham's citizens, he was all too aware of how prestigious employment at WE was. It was better pay, better benefits and exposure to better people. It would be a job his mother would have been proud of… or rather would be.

Over the grilled sandwiches and steaming soup, Pete let his mind drift. A new job, a purposeful job would surely impress his mother. Perhaps then, the urges would be easier to manage, not come so frequently or suddenly. He then brushed such thoughts aside as nothing would ever be enough to fulfill the promise he had made to her. A new job would do nothing to make sure others like him would not suffer at the hand of their kind.

There would always be those that hurt others.

There would always be those that were hurt.

And he would always have to be both.

^V^

The Clocktower, June 20th, 1:11 a.m.

"A what?" Robin blurted out.

I glanced over at him as he jumped off of the edge of one of Oracle's work counters. As a midpoint in patrols, I had her contact everyone in order to have a brief meeting at the Clocktower. To that point, I had been working alone on the case in question, finding no concrete evidence, definitive links between the victims or even a remotely plausible suspect. Enough time had passed that I had grown furious with myself for not making progress.

For needing help.

I repeated myself, "An FBI task force has been brought in, essentially taking over for Special Crimes. They'll be arriving tomorrow morning, so whatever evidence we need to obtain yet, must be taken care of tonight."

Barbara leaned back while Nightwing spoke cautiously, "As in evidence from the locked vault of the Gotham City Police department?"

I nodded in affirmation, and looked at Barbara, "You've given Batgirl the list?"

Robin's face still held a look of confusion, a smaller and more exaggerated version of the one on Nightwing's face. Both had been late in arriving at the Clocktower and had missed the previous discussion where I had outlined the objectives for the remainder of the evening. Fortunately, it did not entail either of their involvement so I clarified in shorthand, "I've assigned Batgirl to retrieve the needed information."

"Stolen evidence," Nightwing muttered.

I paused before continuing, "Oracle will be looking into the agents that are on the task force, which leaves you two setting up surveillance at the Regency. Twelfth floor suites are all reserved, I want eyes and ears everywhere."

Nightwing nodded but Robin opted to speak up, "… We're going to spy on feds? Can't I be the one that breaks into GCPD? At least that's not a federal offense."

I glared at him. Robin's mask wasn't able to hide the fact that he uneasy with his task, but even still, he would perform it to his best. Especially at the right hand of his ally. For the last week, Dick had been finding excuses to be in Gotham, most often shortly before patrols started. Barbara, on her own will, had called his precinct on Bludhaven to find out he had taken two weeks off for "family matters".

When she had reported her findings, Barbara had commented that it was a nice gesture.

I had agreed, but was quick to remind her that he had his own responsibilities, and that dedicating his time to Gotham would impede upon them.

"When you see Dick," she had said, "Just say 'thank you' and not some perversely well thought out insult."

I intended on thanking him. Later.

Batgirl, who had been quietly standing beside the window, waited intently for a signal to leave. When I looked to her, I said, "Bring everything to the Cave."

Without a word, she nodded and made a silent exit.

Nightwing then cleared his throat, "So, what exactly does 'everything' include?"

"Regrettably not much," Barbara answered for me, "Not much. We already have access to anything they've logged into the system, but before the feds can get their hands on the physical and trace evidence and ruin it…"

"What about the security footage from the Fitness Center? That leads anywhere?

I nodded, "Somewhat… Barbara has copied all of them so that I could hand the tapes over to Gordon… Barbara was able to match everyone checking in and leaving after the victim arrived. There was only one person who didn't match up," nodding to Barbara, she quickly brought the up the clip. It was brief, barely five seconds long, but it showed a dark clothed figure walking right out the front door, his face concealed by the collar of a turtle neck pulled up over his chin and a baseball cap set low over his brow.

When she paused it, capturing the obscure figure just as his gloved hand reached for the door handle, I explained, "The other footage puts this at the exact moment the witness found the body in the locker room."

A moment passed as Barbara let the clip resume, the person's face never appearing.

"That's him…" Robin whispered.

"Yes," I replied, "But as with the previous crime scenes, there is no trace evidence. The blood I found on the locker room floor belonged to the victim, I thought there was a foot print in the shower but it was just dried soap. Forensics has spent the last few days matching any trace DNA and prints to the fifty-six women that had been in the locker room that day."

"Still nothing form the bar, from the park…" Barbara sighed, "The feds will be revisiting all of the old crime scenes, for show more than anything else. No doubt they'll do interrogations of anyone that was at the bar and the gym, hassling completely innocent people instead of trying to pin down a suspect…"

"None of them were on both lists were they?" Nightwing asked. His involvement in the case to date had been light and erratic. Catching up on every detail from the last few months would take him most of his time off from work.

Barbara shook her head, "No. And at any rate, our mystery man wouldn't be on the list. It certainly rules out the cousin-slash-gym attendant. This guy was much taller, at least twenty pounds heavier."

"All muscle," Robin noted.

I nodded at Barbara and she was quick to point to a black duffle bag, "All of the cameras and bugs are read and programmed to activated by motion or sound. Batteries will have to be changed in fourteen days… hopefully we won't have to worry about that."

Waiting until Robin and Nightwing had departed, I looked to Barbara, "Your father is livid."

"I bet. He hates federal agents," she replied as she attacked one of her keyboards, "He, like you, does not play well with others… At any rate, I've been working on compiling everything, however minimal. Combined with the psychological profile, it hit's a few thousand paroled offenders living on the east coast, narrowed down to one-hundred twenty that live within a hundred mile radius of Gotham."

"That is if he doesn't live in the city itself."

She shrugged, although she didn't look up at me, "I don't think he does. I think, if he did, there would be more victims, that he wouldn't have wasted so much time before increasing his tempo. Kind of hard to picture someone like that being surrounded by young, pretty tweens all of the time and being able to resist temptation."

She had brought up the accumulated profile derived from the evidence, using a criminal profile we had on every major criminal and rogue. In place of a mug shot, she had used a still frame from the video footage. Twenty-five to forty-five year old male, some combat training, six-two, at least two hundred pounds, physically fit, blood type A, a possible victim of childhood trauma that lead him to have a hatred for women with an even stronger desire for control over them…

To punish them.

After she started looking into the airline passenger lists, checking to make sure our FBI friends were indeed arriving on time, I left Barbara to her work. Having already met with Gordon for the evening, where he primarily vented about the FBI, I intended to spend the remainder of the evening retracing the crime scenes, right from the very beginning. With the task force on the way, it would be my last chance to do so in private.

Another undesired aspect of federal involvement meant that Gordon and his Special Crimes unit would no longer be in charge of the investigation, forcing me to act even further outside of the law. After speaking with the commissioner earlier that evening, he had wished me the best of luck and issued his usual warning of being careful not to step on any toes if possible. I had very few run-ins with federal agents, and I intended on keeping it that way. Gordon had also promised to do what he could for me, which included having a birthday party on the third floor of Gotham City Police Headquarters, luring away the officers on guard duty for the massive evidence room.

Not that Cassandra wouldn't have been able to get in otherwise…

Tracing the crime scenes had been futile in the sense of obtaining evidence, but it was all I had left. Trying to mentally recreate the attacks back to the motive and then to the selection of his victims. Barbara was right, there was an endless supply of young, attractive women and so far he had selected girls with varying colored hair, eyes, different heights and ages, upper class, middle class, college graduates and high school seniors.

The only common denominator had been young, healthy Caucasian women, ready to begin their lives.

At a quarter of four, I found myself in the 'Mobile, parked in a service alley across from the First National Bank, listening to a surprising lull in scanner activity. In my years of work, I had handled numerous robbery attempts, most of which had been poorly planned and executed. A quiet beep sounded on the instrument panel, interrupting the silence of the vehicle and a moment later, Barbara's tired face was on the display.

I hoped silently that her efforts had not been as futile as mine.

"Well," she yawned before continuing, "I've spent the last two hours touring the FBI's computer records… and Special Agent In Charge Rich Caffery's e-mail... His preliminary profile is intensely focused on a sex offender being the suspect, not even remotely considering a psychopath."

After a beat, I countered, "It's an easy answer. This one is anything but… Sex offenders want to gratify their urges and desires, this one… he's not in it for the thrill. He wants the control, he needs it."

She nodded, "Well, I wouldn't call what he did last week as being in control."

"Something happened, something to upset him…"

Barbara nodded before saying, "Be interesting to find out what woman scarred him so badly, that he would need to do this. Even a mother spanking their kid one time too many or missing a football game couldn't possibly be enough to cause this…."

I suddenly flashed to my mother's smiling face.

Telling me that my father would be missing dinner.

Thanksgiving.

My birthday.

Barbara had suggested that a mother had been responsible for this killer's hatred of the opposite sex before, shortly after the victim in the park. The violent assault and complete disregard of covering up his acts suggested he felt they deserved their fate. I thought back on the countless young lives I had faced over the years that had been tormented through years of abuse.

It was quite possible that a young boy could grow up to be the monster he had feared as a child.

^V^

Wayne Manor, June 20th, 7:15 a.m.

As I sat in bed drinking a cup of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee, I decided that Bruce Wayne would be taking a four-day weekend.

Setting the mug down on the breakfast tray Alfred had already brought up, I reached for my cell phone and called the Melinda. She answered, shocked given how early the time was, and asked, "What can I do for you?"

"I, uh… I can you have the Gulfstream ready this morning… I was thinking about taking a few friends to Aruba, you know, just for a few days. Maybe a week."

"Of course… I'll head into the office right now…"

"You're not there?"

"Mr. Wayne, it's seven in the morning?"

"That late?" I falsely exclaimed, "I had no idea, God, I'm so sorry Melinda… I thought it was like two in the morning…"

She paused before replying, "An honest mistake. I'll call the pilot right now and text you the details."

"You're the best."

"I certainly am."

Hanging up, I set the phone down on the bed beside me, catching myself looking at the empty space beside me. For so long, it had been natural for either Selina to stay at the Manor or for me to sleep at her penthouse. In the last few weeks, we had barely spent hours together let alone entire nights. If only the trip to Aruba wasn't a ruse, if only Selina and I were actually leaving for a random paradise getaway…

Bruce Wayne would be making it to the airport that morning but he would not make his flight, nor would his imaginary guests. In fact, Bruce Wayne would be calling the pilot minutes before scheduled take-off and tell him to treat himself with the trip and next few days off. With the agents arriving around nine, I would be occupied observing them instead of boarding my personal jet. After patrols, I had Barbara contact the others to have them be ready first thing in the morning for undercover assignments. The investigation team's first day in Gotham would be second only to their last day.

Cassandra already agreed to meet me at the airport with Tim, in their own disguises, and we would then stake out various spots to keep an eye on and then divide them amongst ourselves. Dick had agreed to stakeout police headquarters, guised as himself in uniform under the false pretenses that he and Barbara were there visiting her father. Including SAIC Caffery, there were five federal agents coming to Gotham to do make a somewhat legitimate attempt to catch a predator.

Caffery's name had sparked a few memories of a usually ferocious and victorious agent who had specialized in the most violent cases he could get involved with. Returning to the Cave after patrols, I had spent a good hour reading up on him, skimming through newspaper articles, new footage as well as the dossier Barbara had compiled. As I had anticipated, he had been behind thirty-six apprehensions of violent offenders, eleven of which had the suspect ending up in a body bag instead of handcuffs.

And he was bound for Gotham…

Alfred rapped on the door softly before entering the bedroom. He scowled slightly at the uneaten omelet before asking, "Seeing how we have chosen to skip the most important of meals, might one inquire as to what is in store for the day?"

I had left a note on his door to wake me at seven in the morning, something I had never asked of him. He had done so, promptly at the hour directed, with a tray of warm breakfast and hot coffee. Knowing that my sleep deprived state of mind would not be open to conversation, he had managed to contain his inquiries until I had least had caffeine. I took a bite of the cold omelet to appease him before explaining the basics of my plan.

He nodded curtly, taking the tray when he was satisfied that half of the plate was cleared, "A formidable plan, sir. I shall fetch the necessary supplies from the Cave."

When Alfred left, I rose to my feet, stretching my back, arms and legs before crossing the open room. After a quick shower and shave, I stepped out of the bathroom to see that Alfred had already selected a pair of worn khakis, scuffed loafers and thin turtleneck from the costume vault in the Cave, along with a scruffy tweed coat that had seen better decades. As I donned them, Alfred appeared once more, carrying a large stainless steel tote containing a world-class costume make up kit.

Given that I already had the scholarly look going, I went about selecting a pair of thick eyeglasses with dark rims and bifocals. Although thick as the bottom of a soda bottle, they were clear and had no affect on my vision. I then decided that my thick black hair looked hardly intelligent and chose a wig which not only featured frizzy gray hair, but also added four inches to my forehead.

Standing before the bathroom mirror once more, I began applying a light coverall that paled my complexion slightly and also blended my skin tone with that of the wig. Alfred busied himself by mixing a temporary coloring mixture that would match my eyebrows to that of my new do. While I applied it carefully, he asking, "Will we be requiring a nose job, sir?"

I shook my head looking at the nearly unrecognizable face in the mirror, "I think this is more than enough… although…" After a brief search in one of the compartments, I found a set of contact lenses and promptly inserted them, turning my icy blue eyes to a rich hazel color.

"Dashing to the last, Master Bruce," Alfred remarked.

I ignored him and sprayed too much Old Spice on my neck before finally donning the tweed coat. Before leaving the bedroom, Alfred retrieved a worn leather shoulder bag and from the bed and offered it to me. Although I offered, he refused to hand over the makeup tote, carrying it back down as he followed me into the Cave. I took a moment to pack up long distance recording devices into the bag's front pocket along with a mobile comm. link that looked like a cell phone hands free device.

Stepping out of the costume vault, I spotted Alfred as he stood poised with a small stack of hardcover books. Before I could ask, he said, "An intellect without his books is as practical as a king without his crown."

I offered him a smirk of gratitude and then secured the books in the bag. The titles on the spines were of animal anatomy and physiology, one of which had a tiger bounding through snow on the cover, subtle as ever. As with any undercover operation, I used one of several vehicles that were not registered under my real name. The 1999 green Honda Divic with more than enough dings and scratches to betray the mere thirty-thousand miles on the odometer. Throwing the bag in the passenger's seat, I looked through the window to see that Alfred had already departed.

Bypassing the James Memorial Highway, I took a quiet county route around the city to the airport, giving me additional time to finalize my disguise mentally. It wasn't nearly as in-depth of a stakeout as when I acted under the alias of Matches Malone or tried to infiltrate organized crime as a fake felon, but it didn't hurt to practice. Within miles, I was in the mindset Adjunct-Professor Alex Buckhout, formerly of GSU's prestigious animal science division. I repeated this idea over and over in my head while driving three miles under the limit, ready to brake for any animal crossing.

The first sign of life after leaving Bristol had not been that of the furry type, but a lone jogger. He was fairly tall and appeared to have been going at it for some time given the sweat that drenched the back of his tee shirt. I waved while driving by the curly haired man but he showed no sign of acknowledgement. I clearly understood the focus that drove him, for when I worked, all interruptions were ignored.

Traffic picked up just before the exit for the airport and my slow driving irritated those behind me. Once on the ramp, it was only a quarter of a mile before the main entrance. From there, it was impossible to miss the expansive paved runways that sprawled for miles on the right side of the road. Jets taking off and landing uttered deafening roars from above and I waited until I had found a spot before giving the pilot the okay to leave without me.

I was the first to make the meeting point, which happened to be a small coffee lounge just to the left of the American Airway check-in counter. We all had tickets for random flights, along with fake identification good enough to get into the White House let alone airport security. The small tables were relatively empty and I actually managed to find one with three chairs. An exhausted waitress no taller than five foot approached me and took my order for a large decaf with skim milk and any muffins they had that had berries, but not blueberries,

As she left, I had to fight back a smirk.

Given that they weren't public figures, Tim and Cassandra did not have to go through the same lengths to disguise themselves. Although I had seen them in social settings in casual dress before, it had been far too long. In fact, I couldn't honestly say when the last time had been that I had been in their company when they hadn't been wearing masks.

Tim wore a navy blue Boston Redsox hat along with baggy blue jeans, form fitting gray tee shirt declaring he was a member of the Church of Hot Addiction. Cassandra had also taken on the role of a young, carefree teenager with hip hugging stonewashed shorts that were barely six inches in length and a fitted burgundy tee shirt. They casually scanned the small sitting area, obviously confused when they were unable to spot me.

I waited until they were standing mere feet away with their backs towards me before remarking, "Go Bosox," in a soft New England accent.

Tim turned back, did a double take and then smiled before sitting down with me and Cassandra stared briefly but was quick to look beyond the disguise up close. When my order arrived, the waitress offered to get them something and Tim politely refused. Alone, we quickly and quietly discussed the various points of the arrival bay that could be watched, along with the work that needed to be done throughout the day before patrols started. Tim volunteered for the terminal gate, Cassandra opted for the luggage claim, which left me with the main exit into pickup lane.

After adjusting his hat, Tim commented, "Good thing I skipped school for this…"

"We need to see how they function as a unit. To see if they are going to help or hinder this investigation."

Cassandra finally spoke, "Should help. Right?"

"Ideally, yes. But I'd much rather we see this to the end rather than let this fall into their hands. Caffery has a history of using lethal force… After all this man has done, he deserves to be punished, but not like that."

Rising to my feet, I left a ten dollar bill on the table and left.

^V^

Wayne Enterprises, June 21st, 3:40 p.m.

"Sir, may I see a form of identification, please?"

Pete had just pulled up to the security booth at the entrance of the visitor's parking lot. Even though he had arrived precisely at what time he had planned to, he still felt rushed and fumbled as he retrieved his driver's license to the man garbed in blue. As the card was reviewed, he took a chance to look over the guard. Big, burly, with a grim face that would steer any one with impure thoughts aside. Exactly the kind of power he desired.

Pete found himself explaining that he was there for a job interview at four in the afternoon.

"Very well, if you would put this on your dash," the guard handed over the license and a pink card that read "Visitor: 6/21", "And pull into the visitor's lot on the other side of those trees."

As he placed the card as directed, Pete asked, "Where would I find Human Resources?"

"Take the elevator in the main lobby, get off on the third floor and take a right. There will be a welcome sign that will take you to the HR lobby."

He paused, nodded then drove off. Parking was a challenge given how full the visitor lot was and he had to navigate several rows before finding a space. With one last look in the mirror, he brushed back his hair with his hand and tried a soft smile, surprised at how calm he looked given how anxious he felt. With an updated resume in hand, he took the keys out of the ignition, locked up and headed for the glass doors of the main entrance.

Everywhere he looked, gold emblazoned WE's marked doors, direction signs and even the stone ground he walked on. So lavish and yet tasteful. Their flowerbeds were overflowing with a wide variety of colorful flowers, budding hedges and decorative grasses. Nothing but the best for the best.

The main lobby drew a breath from him. The room itself was cavernous, the ceiling easily two and half stories high. The floors were done in glossy marble, matching the columns and wall paneling. After he took a breath, Pete walked quickly towards a bank of elevator doors and pressed the up button. The doors opened almost immediately and revealed an empty car. Stepping in, he selected the third floor and then rode up alone and in complete silence.

Reaching his destination, Pete turned right as directed and followed a corridor with the beautiful marble flooring and slate blue wall treatments from ceiling to floor. Not a few strides down the hall, he found the overhead sign welcoming him to the Human Resource department. The waiting area was lavishly furnished with over stuffed couches and in the corner, a small kitchenette with self-serve gourmet coffee and snacks. Having an uneasy stomach from his nerves, he simply headed straight to the receptionist desk and said, "I'm Peter Placido, Alicia Wont scheduled a four o clock interview."

The woman seated behind the desk tapped on a keyboard after offering him a warm smile, "All right. I'll inform her that you've arrived."

He nodded in acknowledgement, paused, and then decided to have a seat. She had seemed nice enough, the only visible jewelry had been a gold wedding band and a matching necklace around her neck. He had expected someone younger but she was easily in her forties, gray hairs creeping into her short auburn waves. Pete smiled as he thought that she even had her blouse buttoned to the top.

A respectable woman, his mother would have thought.

"Mr. Placido?"

He looked up to see a door to the side of the front desk had opened and revealed a tall, leggy woman dressed in a knee length black skirt and a teal silk blouse. He stood and approached her, displeased to see she was over run with jewelry, rings, bracelets and a diamond necklace. Her perfume was rich and overwhelming and her makeup was heavy and overdone. Her hand was warm and soft as he shook it, and he did his best to smile instead of strangle her.

"Hi, I'm Alicia."

"Peter Placido," he offered along with the resume. She took it, her fingers just brushing his. A jolt of warmth ran through him and he nearly jerked from it.

"If you're all set, we can step into the interview room and get started." After his curt nod, she held the door open for him and then led the way down a narrow hall.

After opening a door on the left hand wall, she ushered him into a small conference room with a round table and six chairs placed equally apart. After he took a seat, she sat a

chair away from him and scanned the document he had given her, the smile never leaving her face. He reminded himself that it was her job to be overtly friendly, that if he could just get through the next hour…

"I must say, your experience in the field is extensive. What interested us was your studentship at the Police Academy. Did you leave for any specific reason?"

Pete answered the question just as he had countless times before, "I thought I had wanted to become an officer. But they don't prevent problems, they just handle them after."

"Good point. Even still the education you received there has shown to be very beneficial. My brother-in-law, Michael, is the assistant manager of the First National and had nothing but the best things to say about you."

"Mr. Miller?"

She nodded, "Yep, he said you were one of their best guards, that he would be said to see you leave. Have had any problems at the bank?"

Pete shook his head, "I feel I've been there long enough… time to move on to something better. Something new."

"You seem to have a very steady work record, none of your previous employers wanted to see you go," she grinned at him.

"A compliment, I suppose."

He breezed through the remaining questions about his job history and education, which grew increasingly tedious. She then changed to personal questions and Pete felt his stomach flip, "As a member of the WE Security team, you would be responsible for working a wide variety of shifts, often on short notice. Does this comply with your personal life?"

"I live alone," he replied, "So I'm free to work whenever I'm needed."

"I see. And I see here that you live just outside of the city limits. WE has an excellent commuter incentive program to encourage employees to utilize public transportation…"

Pete nodded and commented on how the idea was wonderful although he had no intentions of ever letting anyone drive him anywhere.

"Also, WE is very keen on keeping this a drug free facility. By accepting the position, you will be submitting yourself to random drug testing, as stated on your application."

Pete nodded, "Fine by me."

"Great. Well, we would also require you complete a training and evaluation period, paid of course, on top of a regularly scheduled shift. When would your date of availability be to begin that period?"

"Monday," Pete replied. Rather than suffer through the tedious two-week period of saying goodbye to fellow employees he could have cared less about, Pete had been fairly direct with the HR representative of the bank saying he was done at the close of business that day. Charles Morgan had already agreed to help cover Pete's hours until a temporary or permanent hire could fill the opening.

"Fantastic," she stood and offered her hand again, "Well, Mr. Placido, pending a clean drug test and uniform fitting, welcome to Wayne Enterprises."

Before leaving, Pete filled out the requisition form for new uniforms. He had asked about a service weapon but was pleased to discover that no guns were permitted on the grounds. He had also received a folder that included a collection of documents he had to sign for health insurance in addition to an employee hand guide. Pete agreed to be there at eight sharp on Monday morning to begin orientation.

As she guided him to the front doors, he asked, "Is Mr. Wayne in the building?"

She laughed rudely and he almost sneered at her, "Not on a Friday afternoon. Actually, you'll be lucky if you see him in your first month here. He's not one for keeping regular hours, but when he does come in, he's holed up on the top floor in his office."

On his way home, he stopped at a small grocery store and bought items to make spaghetti. Friday nights had always been pasta night growing up and he enjoyed carrying on the tradition, even if it was only for himself. While the pasta boiled and meatballs bubbled, Pete felt an eerie calm come over him. The silence of the house didn't unnerve him, in fact it was pleasing.

Plate in tow, he sat in the living room in order to watch the news. After a few bites and a third of a glass of milk, he felt her presence. Before she could say anything, he did, "They liked me, they accepted me."

"How can you be sure?" her ragged voice replied.

"They don't know. They don't have to. It's a new start, a new life."

Her voice came, "They know, Peter. They all know what you are. I don't want you to get hurt-."

The news anchor seemed to speak more loudly as he announced, "Special Agent Rich Caffery and his team of federal agents are well underway in beginning their investigation into the series of ritualistic murders that have taken place over the course of the last year. As many Gothamites now, the police have been trying to track an unknown suspect responsible for the brutal deaths of six young women. The involvement of the FBI is only the latest development in this investigation, of which has yielded little if any incriminating evidence despite months of forensic evaluation. Special Agent Caffery is shown here arriving at Gotham City police headquarters this morning-."

"They can't hurt me," Pete said softly, "No one can."

^V^


	7. Tension

Title: Do Unto Others: Tension

Author: DC Luder

Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.

Rating: M

Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.

^V^

Wayne Manor, June 27th, 9:03 a.m.

A nightmare had its grasp me in its grasp, dark shadows fluttering out of reach, dead, naked girls stacked in piles, a faceless man wielding a bloody knife. With the body count standing at eleven with an unpredictably quickening pace, I deserved far worse than restless sleep. I heard Selina's soft voice and when I looked around, I found her laying in a cold dark alley, motionless, her attacker casually walking away.

My eyes opened abruptly as I felt sharp nails gently tracing down the biceps of my left arm, followed by Selina whispering, "Wakey, wakey…"

The master bedroom was still cloaked in darkness, the blackout drapes keeping the early summer sunlight away. Slowing my breaths, I let my head roll over to look at Selina, barely making out her features in the dim room. Even without seeing, I knew her short hair was a mass chaotic after a good night's rest. As I recalled, she had the faintest sunburn on her cheeks and nose and most likely had a crease across her cheek from the pillowcase.

I glanced over her silhouette to see the alarm clock putting it just after nine in the morning, clearing my throat harshly before speaking, "I was awake three hours ago."

She shimmied closer to me before wrapping her arms around my neck, pressing her smiling lips into the bare skin of my neck. When she spoke, I felt her toes tracing the contours of my ankles, "You should have woken me up. Who knows what would have happened."

"You would have yelled at me for waking you up at six in the morning."

"A possibility."

"More like a probability," I replied quietly.

Alfred had let me sleep in, an uncustomary practice and a cherished gift during the week but a necessity on the weekend. On Sundays, he generally allowed me to catch up on the sleep I deprived myself during the week, often until noon. When I had surfaced from the Cave earlier that morning, I had been surprised to see Selina sleeping in my bed. As always, she had settled in the middle, with three of the four down pillows claimed as her own and the blankets nestled about her long form. I had managed to get in beside her without disturbing her sleep, although her soft snores had suggested that it wasn't that difficult of a task.

Selina yawned and stretched her arms out from under the blankets, making a reach for the remote that controlled the room's lighting, as well as the drapes. "So, what are your plans?"

"Sleep," I grumbled as I leaned over her suddenly, obtaining the remote and throwing it across the room and onto a chaise.

She had laughed softly before asking, "Not eating?"

"Sleep, then food," I replied.

I did my best keeping my expression blank as her fingers teased the flesh along my ribcage, but tickles turned to pinches and they traveled south down the center of my midsection before making a grab between my legs. Tolerance flat-lining, it took a half-second for me to lean over her once more and pin her to the bed. She barely had a chance to utter my name in protest.

"Sleep. Food. Then… maybe... Agreed?"

She lifted her head and kissed me on the lips, "Agreed."

Just as I pulled away, a tone sounded from the bedside table followed by Alfred's voice on the phone's intercom, "Master Bruce?"

After moving off of Selina, I replied, "Yes, Alfred?"

"I do hate to wake you at such an hour-."

Selina cut him off, "Oh, he's wide awake."

He paused before continuing, "Sir, Ms. Barbara called, she said for you to contact her as soon as possible, apparently she came across something in her early morning research."

I closed the connection just as he began announcing that breakfast would be served shortly. Rising to my feet, I quickly crossed the dark room and entered the closet, haphazardly donning a pair of jeans and pulling on a polo shirt. Before leaving, I looked to see that Selina had buried herself under the blankets, facing towards the far wall, muttering something about all work and no play.

Opting to return the call elsewhere, I made it to the study as quickly as possible before dialing on the desk phone, unable to even take a seat. Barbara answered on the third ring and her voice was quiet and scratchy. I apologized, "I thought you would have been awake."

She groaned and mumbled, "Oh, I am… but barely. Anyway, I was going over the feeds from last night and they're already spitting out a list of probable suspects. All of them are registered sex offenders with previous histories of domestic violence, substance abuse, the usual rap. I did thorough checks on their suspects but none of them ever went as far as murder."

"What about alibis?"

"Most of them have records of employment, late night custodial workers, taxi drivers, two are even working construction on the Westward Bridge. There are two others in rehab houses that were in by lights out on most of the nights in question and then two more that they can't even find. Feds are bringing them all in for questioning, started an hour ago."

"They've been in town for a week. They have the wrong profile. And the wrong suspects."

"I know," she replied quietly, "I sent you the list they have for primes… Dad was here for breakfast this morning… he kept griping that they're going to pick one with a matching blood type and arrest the poor soul, even if he has a plausible alibi."

I paused, "I'll take a look at them…" As I hung up, I turned to lean against the desk, catching movement from the doorway. Selina stood, wearing my cotton robe, biting her lower lip. "Plans have changed."

"Figured as much. Well, at least that leaves more for me."

It was difficult to decide whether she was joking or if she was truly mad at me. Instead of the trouble of discerning her mood, I commented, "Have all the pillows and breakfast you want."

"What about… then… maybe?"

I crossed the room and gently kissed her cheek, knowing it wasn't even going to make up for a fraction of the neglect I had brought upon her in recent months. She kissed my cheek as well and then pushed me away, "Go."

Leaving her, I crossed the study once more, bypassing the desk and heading straight to the grandfather clock.

^V^

Residence of Peter Placido, June 27th, 6:21 p.m.

His journal entry was only half of a page long for the first time since the first grade.

Granted it had been a slow day, even for a Sunday. After jogging, Pete had tidied up the house and the yard, washed the car inside and out, showered and dressed and had gone into town for a few errands. He had picked up groceries for the next week, picked up his uniforms from the dry cleaners and had then stopped in at barber for a haircut. His curly hair tended to get unmanageable unless kept short and neat. With Wednesday being his first day of training at Wayne Enterprises, he had to do his best to make a memorable impression.

As Pete sat at the old desk, reading through his brief journal entry, he did his best to ignore the soft whispers coming from down the hall. Since he had been accepted under his new employment, he had heard nothing but discouragement from her. She was worried about how they would treat him but he could do nothing to console her. He had tried reasoning with her, explaining how his life was about to change, but in the end there had only been one way to prove to her that everything was okay. Although he had rid the world of a few additional foul souls, she had only lashed out at him, claiming that once they found out his "dirty little secret", they would hurt him.

When Pete closed the notebook, he heard her voice, "You aren't thinking about her, Pete."

He shook his head and closed his eyes tightly.

When he was alone, if he wasn't thinking about his mother, he thought of her.

But for the first time in as long as he could remember, he had gone the entire day without having the Whore's face flash in his mind. He had reasoned that he had done above and beyond his fair share of work lately at making the world a better place. But his mother's pained voice brought images of thick lipstick and arched eyebrows, of too tight shorts and bourbon breath. Seeing the Whore in his mind caused his heart to flutter and within seconds, he could feel his pulse in the temples of his skull.

"Are you now?"

"Yes," he replied. "Yes, I am, mother."

"Good. Are you thinking about what she did?"

He nodded to himself, picturing his mother's dead, pale face, the way his hands had grown sticky as her blood had dried on them. How his father had barely mourned her, letting the Whore convince him to up and leave the place they had once called home. How she had laughed at him, yelled at him, called him names when his father wasn't there. How she had let his father slowly waste away until his liver and heart failed him one last time…

"There are others like her."

"Yes…"

"Other whores just as evil as she was. They are everywhere, Peter, and they are doing very bad things."

"Bad things," he repeated in a mumble, eyes still firmly closed.

"Stop her, Peter, stop her from hurting me again."

"I-," he began to protest.

His mother's voice thundered in his ears, "Hurt her like she hurt me! Like she hurt you!"

Pete hunched over and covered his head with his arms, "I can't..."

"Yes. You can."

"I-"

"You promised me, Peter.'

"… I can," he replied, "I will.

While holding his breath, he waited for her to reply but as his chest grew tight, he had to take in a lungful of air. Not sure if she was gone, Pete sat up slowly, looking about the empty den. He listened intently and heard the faint rumblings of a lawn mower. Then a car door shutting. A peaceful Sunday evening. No, not peaceful.

How could anything be peaceful when there were those who lurked in the shadows, waiting for a chance to strike out at innocents.

^V^

Chloe's, June 27th, 11:58 p.m.

The first time Sharon sat next to him, she hadn't noticed his cute smile. All she had seen were tanned, tone forearms as they rested on the glossy bar, no wedding ring in sight. But when she had gone back to the bar for another drink, she chanced a look at his face and returned the smile. She had approached a few other guys at the bar, but he was the first one who had been good looking enough to pursue. After he nodded curtly, she watched as he dropped his eyes and studied the smooth maple of the bar.

"Hi, I'm Sharon."

He looked up after a second and returned a quiet, "I'm Drew."

"What are you drinking there?"

He glanced at his empty glass and said, "Just a light draft."

"Ah, how bout a fill up?" Where most girls waited for guys to buy them drinks Sharon had always been more direct, offering to switch roles in order to break the ice. Her friends had always been surprised when it actually worked. Since her two friends, Stacy and Betts, had bailed on her, Sharon had decided to find someone else to hang out with for the evening. And the curly haired cutie was certainly her top pick.

One beer led to another, which lead to light conversation, more beer, innocent flirting, more talk and before either knew it, physical contact. He seemed to genuinely be bashful; something Sharon had rarely seen since her high school days many moons ago. Thinking back on those times, he actually reminded her of one of her sophomore year boyfriends, Jay. Same short curly hair and deep hazel eyes, and just as sweet as could be. The person whom she sat beside, sharing drinks and stories with was hardly a boy. Well built, his upper arms and chest thick and strong, leading up to broad shoulders. Although the burly types were never her favorite, Drew's good nature and kind eyes put her at ease.

As the bartender made the first announcement that last call was approaching, Drew smirked, "That late already? Guess time flies."

Sharon smirked, patting his arm, "Certainly does. There's a café across the street, a block away… if you wanted to go, that is."

"Sounds great."

He had paid their combined tab in cash, assuring her it was his pleasure. He had mentioned that he worked for City Hall but she couldn't exactly remember what he did specifically. As they made their way out through the throng of people, he gently ushered her out the open door with his fingertips on the small of her back.

As they walked in the warm, late night air, she mused how it was odd that he had donned a light wool coat before leaving the bar. When he noticed her staring, he mentioned that he tended to be cold-blooded. Then, he asked, "Have you always lived here? In the city?"

"No, I grew up in Ohio, moved here with my mom and my step-dad like eight years ago. I mean, Columbus was a big place but no where near as big as Gotham… after ten years, I'm still overwhelmed sometimes. How about you?"

"For quite a while now. I grew up in a rural town about forty miles out of the city, but after my mother passed away we moved closer to the city."

As they paused for safe passage through the crosswalk, Sharon's face grew somber as a sudden flash of pity came over her, "I'm so sorry, about your mom."

He shrugged slowly as he looked down at her, "It's okay. It happened when I was young."

"That's probably worse. Not having her in your life all those years. I couldn't even imagine, my mom and I are very close. I don't know what I would do without her. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

He shook his head and settled his gaze on the light flashing across the street, informing them it was safe to cross. After they quickly made their way across the street, she took a a moment to look him over in better lighting. Despite his amiable smile and calm features, she could tell he was hurting on the inside. The corners of his eyes wrinkled just so and the emotion behind his golden irises welled.

It was refreshing to meet a guy in tune with his emotions, especially in a bar in Goth-.

Sharon's line of thought was cut short as she felt his strong arms lock around her and shove her hard into a small narrow opening between two dark office buildings.

Having grown up with older brothers, she was accustomed to rough housing and could tell instantly that the man who was pinning her against the brick texture of the wall was not playing. His broad hand pressed firmly over her mouth, muffling any sound she tried to emit. Drew's other hand had her wrists in a vice like grip behind her lower back. Sharon's only free appendages were legs, but he was quick to stomp on the instep of one sharply before firmly situating his broad feet over hers, pinning them to the pavement.

Dread washing over her, Sharon was only further pushed into despair when she looked up and into his eyes that a moment earlier had been so soft and readable. In the darkness of the alleyway, they seemed to glow, fierce and restless.

Suddenly, he started to shake his head as he whispered, "No… no."

Sharon let tears fall from her eyes, the drops running over his fingers as they clamped tightly on her face. She heard him whisper again, "It shouldn't be this way. Shouldn't be this easy."

A car drove by and she bit down hard on his hand, using the momentary release on her mouth to scream for help. Instead of a loud cry of desperation, she had hoarsely called out, her throat dry from sheer panic. His fist connected with her jaw and she bit down hard on her tongue. When he gripped her again. she tasted his blood as it mixed with hers.

Heart pounding deep within her chest, she wondered how someone could change so quickly, how a decent man could switch into a rabid monster.

He drew her focus back to the present, releasing his hold on her hands in order to grip her throat, pressing down on her trachea and trapping the air in her chest. With his injured hand he jabbed at her abdomen, forcing whatever was in her lungs out in a gushing exhale. The unfamiliar wave of lightheadedness came over her, but she did her best to focus her energy into trying to hurt him again. Clawing at his face, trying to kick him in the groin, anything to get him to release his hold just the slightest bit.

Futile efforts, as she tired too quickly from oxygen deprivation, gasping for breath silently.

He shook his head again.

Suddenly, he loosened his hold and a rush of oxygen flooded her lungs and stepped off of her feet. Instead of taking the moment to make her escape, she had faulted, drawing in air hungrily. If she had clawed at his face or punched him the solar plexus, she could have tried to run away. She could have made it to the street, started screaming for help. Surely he wouldn't continue his assault under the bright street lights…

But she didn't.

She could only stand there and breathe in and out, as if it were for the last time.

Then she felt it. A shock of pain as something slick and sharp pierced ribcage. She gasped in pain but there was no sound, even as he withdrew the blade and stabbed again, this time lower on her side. The third time she felt the white-hot pain, it was just below her sternum. Her breath came in short rasps and to her surprise, he had no hold on her whatsoever, letting gravity carry her to the pavement.

He crouched in front of her, his eyes still bright in the dimness of the alley, "Does it hurt?"

The pain was unbearable. She could feel the warmth of her blood as it trickled down her side. And a growing tightness in her chest with every breath she managed.

"It's nothing compared to what your kind did to me. To my mother," he growled then paused before finishing, "You'll never hurt anyone now. Whore."

She took in a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes shut as tight as possible, so that when she opened them it would all have been a drunken dream. But when she opened them a moment later as she felt his right hand tugging up the hem of her skirt. In a last attempt to try and understand what had happened, she gurgled, "Why?"

"I'm a good person. You're not. It's my responsibility. I promised her," he ripped her blouse off, exposing her pale flesh and garish wounds, "And good people keep their promises."

^V^

Franklin Drive Alley, June 28th, 4:45 a.m.

"No way, Gordon, absolutely not."

I stood on a fire escape landing three stories up and looked down at the crime scene, an alley that was no more than a compact car's length of space between the two buildings. Aside from garbage dumpsters and empty cardboard boxes, only small amounts of trash littered the pavement. That and the body of Sharon Watson.

A dark alley, bathed in spotlights and the flicker of squad car lights. Scanners and radios squawked, orders were shouted, cameras snapped. Yellow tape, curious bystanders, draped body in a pool of blood.

A crime scene I had been privy to a thousand times over.

Not that it made it any easier.

Upon arriving ten minutes earlier, I had happened upon Commissioner Gordon in a heated debate with SAIC Caffery while forensics and FBI agents fought over evidence. Since their arrivals, bodies had been turning up at a faster rate, no doubt the killer alarmed by their presence. Their list of suspects was a joke, and had they been pooling their resources into finding connections between the crime scenes, they might have stumbled upon something… or at least kept busy enough to stay out of my way.

I had already scanned the immediate area before settling on the fire escape, taking in the unsavory feud between the federal agent in charge and my long time friend and ally.

Gordon crossed his arms over his chest, "I'm sorry, he's not under my control. If he wishes to continue his investigation into the matter, I can't stop him."

Caffery, who looked far too pressed and prim for the early hour, put his hands on his hips and pushed back his sport coat to reveal his holstered weapon. Showing off. He lowered his voice to a growl, "If you can't stop him, I will."

A half-smile flashed briefly on my face before I resumed my focus on the scene.

A early morning dog walker had been dragged over to the body by the small herd of toy dogs he had been strolling with. Passing the alley on their regular route, he had claimed that the dogs had gone berserk and wouldn't leave what was in there alone.

Animals and the smell of blood.

At the same time, I had been debating whether to head home for the night or to spy on the federal agent suites for a while when the scanner had come to life.

Just as the display on the cowl lenses read five in the morning, Caffery's cell phone rang and he abruptly spun away from Gordon before answering it. Given the window of opportunity, I made my way down the rusted fire escape, being sure not to make my presence heard below. When I was on the final landing eight feet above the pavement, the closer vantage point drawing my gaze to the sterile sheet spread out over a motionless figure.

The width of the alley seemed claustrophobic on its own, let alone when it was occupied with over a dozen law enforcers. As always, my mind went to a dark place, thinking what she must of felt being pushed in from the street and attacked in the quiet dark of the night. Crying for help, but no one coming to save her. That last moment when all hope is lost.

My mind automatically flashed to Crime Alley and how it looked to my eight year old eyes.

"Boss, how are things looking?" Oracle's voice came over the comm. link.

"Caffery and his crew are already taking over the scene. Overheard an argument he had with Gordon about my involvement."

"Well, that's no surprise," she mocked.

Before I could ask for information on the newest victim she spoke, "Well, looks like this time our killer picked the wrong girl. Her step-father is Deputy Mayor Charles McGillian. He's already arranged to speak on Morning Gotham News at Six and to hold a press conference later this morning, featuring the FBI profile they have on the suspect. Still uncertain as to whether or not they are going to release any suspect names."

Over the course of the day, she had been diligent in obtaining information and even live feed into the interrogation rooms at police headquarters. They had managed to bring in all but two of the suspects in for questioning and nothing had resulted after hours of fruitless effort and screaming on Caffery's part. With the remaining two unaccounted for, I had instinctively looked for their names on the list of attendees at Mimi's Bar. Regrettably, there was no match, but there was a chance the bartender had forgotten about someone, ever after multiple questionings.

Still on his cell phone, I watched as Caffery pulled up his slacks and squatted next to the victim's body. He partially pulled back the sheet and stared intently at the Deputy Mayor's former sep-daughter. It was my first glance at the victim, and even without closer inspection I recognized the savage wounds on her side, the bruising on her throat, ripped skirt and blood shot eyes.

I found myself looking down at Gordon as he stood alone, "They'll try to appease the city with a profile, a name of a suspect. Someone they can blame it one, someone they can all hate…"

She agreed quietly and replied, "Well, if he keeps this pace up, and keeps acting so publicly, it's only a matter of time before he errs."

Hoping that he killed more people in order to help me catch him left a foul taste in my mouth. After having her contact Robin and Batgirl in order to tell them to call it a night, she asked if I needed Dick to make his way up to me from Glenville. The borough he was wrapping up in was a fairly lively one most nights, so I had her keep him there until things were taken care of.

I closed the connection and continued to watch the scene as it was catalogued, photographed and cleaned. Since the bureau's involvement, it had been difficult to get a look at the victims before they were loaded in the coroner's van. Gordon had some pull but with Caffery's firm position and blatant hatred of me, even he couldn't let me onto an active scene with so many armed federal agents nearby.

Which was why I waited for the body to be loaded, the agents to retreat to their vehicles and for Caffery to confront Gordon once more. Thankfully, the commissioner had made his way towards the rear of the narrow alley, practically beneath me. While Caffery began to speak his mind, I dropped to the pavement soundlessly, mere feet behind him.

"That was her step-father… he's coming down to the morgue with his wife to ID the body."

Gordon nodded, "Anything else?"

"Aside from the fact he, of all people, just lost his daughter to some mass murderer that's been terrorizing his city all year?"

"Her father's status doesn't make her any more of a victim than the others," I growled.

Although Gordon had already spotted me, Caffery had been completely unaware, spinning around, cursing under his breath. Despite the fact that it was our first, official encounter, he quickly regained his composure and was quick to point a finger in my direction, "What the hell are you doing here? This is police business, not a costume party."

"Same thing you're trying to do, Agent Caffery. Solve a murder."

Gordon stepped forward, recognizing the tension in my voice, "Agent Caffery, it's best not to-."

"More like tainting a crime scene," he snapped at me, "How long have you been here?"

"Longer than you."

Gordon stepped between us and said, "It seems damn stupid to be fighting over something so petty... Especially with another dead girl on our heads."

Caffery pointed at himself then Gordon, "Right OUR heads, not yours. Why don't you busy yourself chasing the Joker or whoever. I've got a real crime to solve."

Although I could have easily knocked him down a peg, literally and figuratively, I let him pass by and step back to his precious crime scene. I heard my friend sigh quietly and turned to face him. He was wiping his glasses off with the corner of his tie, "Well, now that he's left, you should know whose step-daughter the victim is-."

I cut in and said the Deputy Mayor's name.

He hardly looked surprised and said, "Right as always. I also don't have to tell you what this means for us… having to bring him in… If Caffery is as gung-ho as his reputation says he is, if he brings this guy in… it'll be in a rain of bullets, casualties on both sides."

I nodded in agreement before firing a grappling hook to the top of the fire escape, speaking before retracting it, "And that's where I come into play."

Still putting my return to the Manor off, I made my way to the morgue. Barbara stayed online as well, keeping on top of information as forensics started uploading their first photographs. In addition, she already programmed the crays to record any and all new broadcasts, starting with the Deputy Mayor's statement on the morning news. Without being asked, she said, "Well, everyone else is signed off… I think I'm going to catch a few hours… rest up before everything goes to pieces."

I had been perched on the window ledge of the city morgue, using a long distance listening device to listen in as Dr. Jonathan Pierce arrived to perform his sixth young girl that had been stabbed and choked to death. Looking at the cowl display, I was surprised to see it was nearly six in the morning, dawn rapidly approaching.

I asked her to activate the tap at the morgue and feed into the cameras then signed off myself. The drive out of the city came in flashes, my mind barely registering the lanes inbound already packed with commuters. As the sun broke over the horizon, I faintly recalled seeing deer on the side of the roads leading through the Bristol countryside. Somehow, I ended up in the Cave, the Mobile parked but the engine still running, in addition to Alfred standing on the driver's side with a worried look on his face.

After killing the ignition and making my way out of the vehicle, he was quick to note, "Ms. Barbara called earlier to inform me of your late arrival, had I known it was going to be this late, I would have had breakfast warm and ready."

Pulling the cowl back, I rubbed my tired face with a gloved hand, "I'm not hungry."

"But of course… shall I prepare a carafe of Columbian roast?"

"No… I'll be heading upstairs momentarily."

"Very good, sir. Your bed will at least be warm and ready." When I looked at him quizzically, he explained, "Ms. Selina chose to stay another night. To await your return."

He left me to change and find my own way upstairs, most likely banking on the fact that I wasn't heading to bed at all. Rather than prove him right by sitting at the computer to log in patrols, I found the will to leave the Cave even if only for an hour or two. The Manor was a few degrees warmer and my skin tingled briefly with the change in temperature.

Matching the fact that my stomach was burning with another failure.

Selina was buried beneath the blankets, just as she had been the night before when I had found her, softly illuminated by a bedside lamp. A paperback book had fallen of the edge of the bed and had landed on the carpet and I picked it up and set on the night stand. Turning off the light, I carefully reclined beside her in bed, not even bothering with the covers.

She rolled over after a moment. "What time?" her voice asked, muffled and sleep slurred.

"Late, go back to sleep."

Selina made an attempt to find me in the darkness, finally patting my cheek with her hand, "… take your own advice." She shifted closer to me and set her head in the crook of my neck.

As her fingers entwined with mine, she asked, "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Good, don't want to hear about it…"

I cut her off, "I thought we were sleeping."

"I thought you were being annoying."

I smirked in the cover of darkness and replied, "That was... catty."

At that, she rolled away, taking the covers with her and mumbling something about being a few bats short of a belfry.

^V^


	8. Close Encounters

Title: Do Unto Others: Close Encounters

Author: DC Luder

Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.

Rating: M

Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.

^V^

City Hall, June 28th, 9:02 a.m.

Pete stood towards the rear of the group that had assembled before the front steps of Gotham City Hall. Although rain was in the forecast, the sun shone brilliantly and warm air made several beads of sweat form on his brow. Thankfully, he had worn a light short-sleeved cotton shirt with dark khaki pants. Unfortunately, the only shorts he owned were for running, nothing nice enough to wear to a press conference.

Despite living so close, he rarely went into the city if he didn't have to work. Being that Pete would be starting his training at Wayne Enterprises, he decided to make the most of the day. Save for a little spring in his step, everything was as normal as could be. His run that morning had been perfect, not a single nick while shaving and the sky was clear for miles.

He could have easily spent the day home, enjoying the relief that coursed through him after the previous night, but he was wary of letting his mother ruin it for him. Upon returning home, he had explained to her his accomplishments and she had only lashed out at him, telling him that he shouldn't be so happy with himself for only taking one girl. That the others were still out there, waiting, gaining strength, ready to do harm.

Pete wasn't sure he could listen to her all day.

Instead, he had treated himself to a drive into Gotham with a loose plan of having brunch, maybe touring the veteran display at the museum and a walk through midtown. The women were nicer there. Better dressed, better educated, making a living for themselves instead of taking it from others. After parking in a municipal garage, Pete headed north on Court Street towards a cluster of restaurants. With Mimi's still closed, he hadn't eaten out in weeks and had decided to find a nice place for brunch. A small table to himself, quiet time to think.

As he walked by City Hall on his way to a bakery for a late morning breakfast, he spotted the gathering and decided to observe for a moment, ignoring the grumble of his stomach. A tall, dark skinned man dressed in a midnight blue suit stood somberly before a microphone-bearing podium. The closest twenty people held out recording devices and flashed cameras while shouting out questions. The man looked towards each of them and continued to reply that he had no comment and that the Deputy Mayor would be speaking shortly.

A tingle of curiosity rose within him.

Eight minutes after he had found himself a place amongst the other members of the crowd, over a dozen men and women, clad in dark business suits and solemn faces, stepped out of the front doors of City Hall. They lined themselves up in a single row behind the , grimly looking out at the small audience. A middle aged, balding man with a pale face and grief stricken features stepped forward, baring weight on the podium as he stared down at the microphone.

Everyone grew quiet in a hushed anticipation. The man cleared his throat and spoke, his voice tired and stressed, "Good morning, people of the press and concerned citizens alike. Another tragedy has befallen this city, another victim left dead on the streets. Another young woman has lost her life to the hands of faceless madman that has terrorized us for too long. The young woman was... My step-daughter, Sharon."

As he listened, he expected himself to grow angry at this man's harsh assumptions of who had slain his step-daughter, claiming that she was a beautiful young woman aspiring to be an artists, she was in fact nothing more than a common whore. Although beautiful, she was an artist of lies and seduction.

"And although our police force is staffed with driven and talented detectives," he looked over his left shoulder at the row of the suited men and women, "We have called upon outside forces in order to bring this killer down and to make our streets safe once more," as several members of the group applauded softly and began to shout out questions, the Deputy Mayor looked over his right shoulder at the remaining individuals that had followed him down the steps.

"I present to you, Special Agent In Charge Richard Caffery, a special crimes profiler from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. In addition to being known as one of the most successful and ruthless agents in our time, he has a great deal of experience in pursuing and apprehending suspects of this magnitude. Myself, the Gotham City Police Department and the families… of twelve innocent young women… put the utmost faith into Agent Caffery and his team… to… to… I'm sorry, please…"

The man abruptly turned, stepping through the row of people and disappearing into City Hall.

A weak man. No wonder she barely fought back.

Of the people in tailored suits, only one of them managed to shed his frown into a determined look, taking the podium with purpose. He was certainly not as weak as the other man, but he seemed to be hiding something. Perhaps fear.

"People of Gotham City, I promise you that this man, this monster that haunts this city will be brought to justice. He will pay for the crimes he has committed, the lives he has taken."

A tall, nasal reporter shouted out, "So, what does this man/monster look like, Agent Caffery?"

A few chuckles emerged from the crowd and Caffery quickly silenced them, "In our brief time on this case, we have already comprised a list of possible suspects and have spent the last twenty-four hours thoroughly interrogating each and everyone-."

"Agent Caffery," the same nasal voice called out, "What suspects do you have?"

"At this point, we are not releasing the names of the suspects. When we have him, you'll know."

There were several more demands for names of suspects and information that had been "hidden" by police, but he seemed to ignore them, stepping back and waving briefly for photographs. They didn't understand what he was doing. And he wasn't sure how else to make his work any clearer.

Pete watched on as the lead agent and his team made their way to a string of glossy, black SUV's, four to a vehicle. The man who had spoken, Caffery, was still being hounded by reporters, who were barely being held back by a pair of police officers. He finally turned around and waved his hand briefly as he scanned the crowd, his eyes seemingly locking on Pete for a moment.

He was precise in his work, never erring, overcoming hurdles without hesitation.

Pete suddenly wondered f the same applied to those now pursuing him.

They had suspects, more than one.

Pete allowed himself to smirk/

They were guessing.

They had nothing.

"He knows, Peter," his mother's voice whispered in his ear.

He turned to face his right side, but there was only an older man shaking his head. After facing forward again, Pete was surprised that the agent was still looking at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"He knows what you did. He'll punish you."

"No," he managed as he made his way away from the crowd and continuing on his way to the bakery, "I didn't do anything wrong."

She waited to respond, as if whispering in his ear, "I know… but they don't."

^V^

City Hall, June 28th, 9:02 a.m.

"Well, I guess we can just call it quits, this guy seems to have everything under control," Dick growled.

Tim, who was standing between his predecessor and I, added, "This guy gives me the creeps."

They had decided to meet me at City Hall in order to see what remarks and details would be released to the public in light of the Deputy Mayor's step-daughter being killed the night before. I was also interested to see if they would announce the fact that they had a list of suspects or even divulge the names of their persons of interest. Forensics had yet to pick up on anything at the crime scene, the autopsy had revealed only things that the previous eleven had and no witnesses had materialized.

It was as if we were moving backwards, not forwards.

Given that I had woken up late after a fitful two hours of sleep, I had skipped the breakfast that Alfred had in ordered to race into Midtown. On the way, Dick had called to say that both he and Tim would also be attending the press conference. If anything major was revealed, obviously we would have to get to work, but if it was kept short and sweet, perhaps a quick meal at the bakery down the street was in order.

Agent Caffery had just finished speaking, going on about how evil was about to be brought to justice and I had just about as much as I could stomach. I was about to turn to Dick and tell him we should leave when the Deputy Mayor stepped back up to the microphone, a tired and angry face belied by glassy eyes. I'd seen similar expressions on parents who had lost their children to senseless acts of violence far too many times.

His wife, Sharon's biological mother, stepped forward and although I had only seen her daughter's driver's license and corpse, the resemblance uncanny. He placed his hands on his wife's quivering shoulders, supporting her as she looked out to the cameras and the small audience. With tears streaming down her face, she pleaded, "Please, if anyone knows who hurt my baby... Don't let him hurt someone else's child... Don't let him get away with it again... Please… I…"

Her body weakened with a bout sobs and her husband turned her to face him before he took her into an embrace.

As the reporter hordes closed in on the podium, each shouting for a chance to be heard, I nodded to Dick and we stepped out of the pack of jackals. Within a few steps, we were on the sidewalk, walking north. Tim caught up with us and matched his pace with mine, "Barbara said you met with Caffery last night?"

"We shared words," I replied quietly. Some of the bystanders that had stopped to watch the speech had dispersed as well and were off in varied directions. I spotted the bakery and asked them if they was up for breakfast.

Dick had finally smirked, "Hi, I'm Dick Grayson, I'm not sure we've met…"

Ignoring his quip, I led the way up the block. Although it was mid-morning, we were able to find a small table along the window. With the counter and booths already filled with mid-morning patrons, we secured a small table in the middle of the open dining area. The bakery itself had expanded considerably in the last two years, adding a full breakfast and lunch menu that I often had my assistant choose from if I wasn't attending a luncheon or banquet during the workweek.

Having missed two consecutive meals, I had opted for a spinach, turkey and bacon omelet along with black with a side of oatmeal and a dark roast coffee. Dick apparently had a similar hunger for he ordered the Ham and Eggs Benedict special although he had opted for Pomegranate-Cranberry juice. The last to decide, Tim asked for French toast with hash browns and a side of sausage along with an orange juice.

The waitress had smiled at us, "Growing boys."

Despite how busy it was, by the time we began replaying the press conference in hushed voices, our meals had arrived. Although I was hungry and needed to eat something, it became a taste to put forkfuls of warm, fluffy omelet into my mouth. After forcing myself to eat at least half of it, I broke the silence that had come over our table, Anything from the surveillance of the rooms?"

Tim shook his head, wiping his mouth before replying, "They seem over-confident. Bragging how the cops hadn't thought about it beforehand, going after sexual offenders."

"But they did… didn't they?" Dick asked.

I nodded, "It was looked into but seemed implausible. The focus was never on the assault, it was on the control of the victim. Punishing her."

Dick continued, "Right… but for what? They have no connections aside from being young and pretty."

"He's seeing beyond that. We just have to look at them like he did," Tim said softly.

I nodded, "Exactly."

For the last four months I had done nothing but try and get myself into the mindset of the man stalking the streets of Gotham. While Barbara managed to juggle her own work on top of whatever I unloaded on her, I had been looking into abuse cases through social services that dated back as far as thirty years. Traumatic events often changed the paths of children, ending their innocence in a blink of an eye. Where I had chosen the higher road, the man I was seeking had opted to follow a different path.

And yet despite my efforts, I was at a dead end where he was trucking right along.

As Tim and Dick talked amongst themselves about the surveillance footage from the agents' suites, I let my the gears of my mind turn silently. I had given myself too much time on this case, let him get to bold and too brave. I had dealt with far worse in my time, and victim tolls that reached the triple digits, but I had always been able to unravel the clues, however subtle, and bring in those responsible.

The only thing that was different, my practical mind mused, was that I had allowed myself to lower my guard personally, letting Selina into my life. I had always kept my work before my personal life, before and after I had exposed myself to her. When working my way through the city, all of my energy and focus went into patrols, never straying to futile thoughts of what she was doing or what she was thinking. I ahd it under control, I had been able to split my life into perfect and polar opposites, but Selina was the only link between the two…

And since all of the other variables had remained the same, logically speaking, the one that had changed was the one to bare the blame.

I hated myself for letting the though cross my mind...

Suddenly, our waitress arrived to top off our beverages, sighing to herself before putting on a cheery smile. When she departed, she went the long way around to get behind the counter, which seemed strange since timeliness was a priority in her trade. Looking over my shoulder, I spotted a tall, curly haired man smoothing out his shirt as he quickly walked towards the door. When we had entered, I had let myself scan the faces and figures in the crowded bakery, more out of force of habit than for any other reason. He had been reading a newspaper at the counter and when I looked to where he had been sitting, I noticed he had left it behind. Nothing outstanding about him at all, near middle age, well built, plain face.

Tim was staring as well, his mouth chewing slowly and his eyes sharp as razors as he watched the man walk out of the bakery. Dick looked up as well, as confused as I was.

"What?" he asked.

Tim shrugged and stabbed a crumb of scrambled egg, "Nothing. Guy touched the waitress's butt when she walked by. I thought it was an accident but he was staring right at her…. Uh, backside."

I nodded, thinking of all the times that Bruce Wayne had to undressed women with his eyes and how many lame sexual innuendos he had dished out over the years.

Not in the proper setting to get into any serious detail, I told them to meet me at the Clocktower that evening at nine. Tim nodded, "Cass is working with Barbara right now on the interrogation room tapes, looking for body language confessions as she called them."

I nodded, setting a fifty dollar bill on the table, "Good. I want you to keep working on the surveillance. Dick… I know you're on vacation, but if you wouldn't mind dropping by police headquarters."

He smirked as he rose from the table, "And put my big nose into their business, no problem. I'll bring Gordon some coffee, play it up like a social call."

As we made our way to the door, Tim asked, what about you?"

"I, regrettably have to put in an appearance at Wayne Enterprises… hope to use an exit strategy to get out by noon."

Dick held the door for the woman who had exited behind us, "Well, it's a beautiful day… and I think you could use nine holes to relax, get some sun."

If only it was true…

Departing in the opposite direction as them, I walked briskly and kept my eyes up and my ears opened. I had never enjoyed walking the streets during the day, seeing how they were so crowded and jumbled, pedestrians packed onto cracked sidewalks. As hard as it was to believe, I always felt safer in the middle of the night on the rooftops of twenty story buildings.

I had another eight blocks to go before reaching Wayne Tower when my cell phone chirped from my pants pocket. I found it and answered without looking at the Caller ID, "Yes."

"I don't think it's polite to greet someone of my caliber with the answer to a yes-or-no question, Bruce."

Usually at the sound of her voice, my mind eased itself of its worries. But with dark thoughts plaguing every corner of my mind, I found Selina's soft voice on the verge of being irritating. I corrected my greeting, "Hi."

"Much better. I watched the press conference on the news… Heavy stuff. At least they didn't paint targets on anyone's back."

"Not yet."

She paused, sensing the tension in my voice before asking, "Were you coming back here?"

I had left her sleeping in my bed this morning without making the attempt to wake her in order to say goodbye. "No," I said too quickly, too sternly, "Sorry, I've got some things to take care of."

"You and your things," she replied quietly before her tone sharpened, "Well, I'll let you go so your things can get taken care of."

"Selina, wait-."

"I don't want to use up my weekly allotted time with you. Seems to me I've wasted most of it sleeping your bed…"

It was difficult to tell over the phone if she was angry or if she was just picking on me. I had always used the look in her eye to match the emotion to her voice.

After avoiding a head-on collision with a messenger on a skateboard, I said, "I can be there by noon. Two at the latest."

"Bruce… don't worry about it. I'll call you later tonight."

Click.

The few hours I had been forced set aside for work was promptly reduced to forty-eight minutes. The second I stepped foot on the executives' eighty-second floor, I realized it would be an all day affair and not a brief visit. The broad, glass surface of my desk was layered in documents, neatly, but still overwhelming. I had been neglecting my role in my family's company for the better part of a month. Taking a seat, my assistant, Melinda, buzzed in and asked if I had a request for coffee.

"Something large and very strong."

"I'll get right on it, also Mr. Fox-."

"Don't tell him I'm here, I have to leave by eleven if I'm going to make the pre-tee off luncheon."

"Okay…" she replied hesitantly.

As I skimmed the phone messages left for me in neat rows on my desk, I found three of them worthy of returning. The remaining four dozen pink swatches of paper were crumbled up and tossed in the recycle bin. From there, I quickly scanned the coming week's schedule, nothing of which technically required my presence save for the shareholder's meeting on Friday.

Melinda appeared with a large, glossy black mug as I sampled it, she smiled, "Well, I prepared this so you can review the agenda for the shareholder's meeting…"

I took the hefty packet form her, "Fantastic. I'll have my caddy read them to me."

She shook her head, "Well, I prepared things for the other meetings, but I figured you would opt out of them."

I winked at her, "You know me better than I do." Rising from the still cluttered desk, I promised to be in first thing the next morning.

"Also… Wednesday there's an orientation brunch for new employees, and it's been highly recommended by the HR department that you donate a few spare minutes to make an appearance, eat a bagel, shake some hands.."

I nodded, patted her shoulder, "Warm welcome to the new crewmembers. I've got it. What time is it at?"

"Eight."

I stepped back, "In the morning?"

She smiled and shook her head, "Well, actually it's at nine, but if I told you eight, you would show up an hour late and would then in turn be on time."

"You are very clever," I said while heading towards the door, "Nine it is."

^V^

Rockledge State Park, June 28th, 6:21 p.m.

Rockledge, a rural town forty-five miles beyond the Gotham City limits boasted two things: the cherished state park that covered over two thousand acres of trees, trails, rivers and mountains and a quiet, friendly atmosphere, the kind desired by many to raise children in.

Pete had spent his early childhood there, until his mother died.

During the summer, when things were still okay, his father had taught him to fish there, his mother had taken the family there for afternoon picnics. When they had stopped being a real family, Pete rode his bike to the park on his own, trying to recreate memories on his own. In fact, the day he was due to leave with his Father and the Whore, Pete had run away Rockledge Park and had hid in the bathhouse. A park ranger had found him that night and promptly taken him home.

The Whore had been livid that they had to wait until the next day to move.

Parked in one of the smaller camper lots, Pete stared out at the massive lake that sprawled before him. He remembered his fifth birthday party had been held there. At that age, everyone in the class went to each other's parties but he had feared that they wouldn't come to his. But just as his mother had promised, all twenty kids showed up bearing gifts and birthday cards and big smiles.

On his sixth birthday, he had sat next to his mother on the bed as she stared at the wall.

With school out for the summer and considering the beautiful weather, the beachgoers were jut calling it quits. Mothers packing up coolers and towels, fathers chasing down young children as they tried to make one last splash in the shore. Young men and women sat on the dock leading fifty yards out into the lake, their laughter echoing softly. The lifeguard on duty was making a final announcement that to the patrons that the beach was closing in thirty minutes.

Although he would occasionally use the pool at the YMCA or at one of the five health centers he was enlisted in for lap swimming, he rarely swam in open water. As a child, his father had warned him of lake monsters and giant crabs, and even though he knew better as an adult, he still heeded his warnings. Occasionally, he liked to visit the park's spacious beach, not only for personal desires but because it was clean and well-maintained, something he truly appreciated.

During his long drives, generally one out of five ended in the very same spot in the park. Same parking lot, same view, same spot as long as it wasn't occupied. He liked it when he made it in time for sun set as to see the orange reflections dance across the water. He had made that particular trip out to the park to let the water lap over his bare feet as it crept up the sandy shoreline, an attempt to try and put his mind at ease… but it had been too busy. With the families already back to their campers and cars, only the four young adults remained, slowly making their way off of the dock.

Pete studied them, seeing how the sun's reflections off of the water had become too bright and hurt his eyes. One was tall, all legs and had wavy brown hair that ran the length of her back. Her bright smile reminded him of Christine and he looked down at his hands in self-hatred. His prompt leaving at the bank had no doubt affected her, and he was uncertain how he felt about that. She had always been nice to him, genuine and thoughtful. A rare rose amidst the thorny briar patch.

The other girl in the group had been wearing a skimpy two piece suit, her blond hair tied up in a chaotic bun. She flirted shamelessly with their two male counterparts, both wearing knee length swimming trunks. They laughed, nudged each other and then promptly began a game of tag once they reached the sand, the dark haired girl's laughter was music to Pete's ears.

There was usually a period of time where he could try to be happy, try to be normal. He had always known he was different, but rather than completely accept it, he secretly wondered what it would be like if he had lived a different life. If he hadn't lost his mother, if the Whore had never ruined his life… A selfish act, wanting to have a different life, wanting to have more, wanting to be like everyone else. Whenever Pete found himself following that line of thought, it only fueled him, reminding him why he had to keep his promise.

And why he always would.

It hadn't felt right, the previous night. She fought back more than the others but he was conflicted in completing the task, something that had never happened before. He had done everything right, waited until the right time, went through the right steps and chose the right one. In fact, it had been more than the right one, perhaps too right. Her step-father was an important man, but it didn't change the fact that she was a monster.

The fact that the police had been actively looking for him for four months and had not come after him suggested that Pete was safe from being interrupted by them. The federal agents didn't seem to bother him either, especially since they announced that they had questioned suspects and he hadn't heard a word from them. It wasn't that he wanted to get away with what he was doing, he knew on some level that it was wrong to take a life, especially if he applied the rule his mother had raised him on.

But was it better to let them roam free? Let them get stronger, let them target their evil on innocents?

No, it wasn't about getting away with his actions. It was about righting a wrong, one no one had cared about but him. It was the satisfaction that he was appeasing his mother and also making the world a better place. For a long time, he had been able to sate her with minimal effort, but in the last month, she had been unrelenting and knowing he had done right was not enough. It troubled him to some extent, mainly because he was worried of letting her down and at the same time, making a mistake.

In his work, he was still in control, able to stay calm and collected. But for day-to-day functions, he found that he was slipping. Yelling at the woman in the traffic jam had been the start of things, of which had escalated that morning. Biting his lip, he thought back to how he had reached out and touched the waitress at the bakery. Impulsive and uncalled for, but Pete couldn't help himself. When he had left, he walked to his car, got in and fled the city in order to drive to the state park.

She had called him a pervert.

The Whore had called him the same name once, saying little boys who peed the bed grew up to be perverts.

They were wrong…

From the silence of the car, Pete heard his mother's voice, "Name calling is a dishonest thing to do, Peter. I would go back there and teach her a lesson."

"No, it's too late," he said quietly, but for a change without the frailty that his voice took when speaking with her. As he closed his eyes, he continued, "It was my fault, not hers."

"It was always her fault, Peter, always. You were never to blame."

"But I was the one who-."

She interrupted him with shushing noises, "Don't raise your tone, Peter. It was always her fault and it will always be her fault. That's why you must do what do, so that they can learn, all of them."

Leaning forward, he rested his brow on the steering wheel. It was the first time all day that he felt tired. First time he had felt tired in a long time. He apologized for raising his tone, still with his brow on the wheel. He was about to ask her what he could do when he heard a tapping on his driver side window. Jumping up, he looked to his left to see a uniformed man looking down at him. His first impression had been a policeman, but upon closer inspection, he recognized the garb of the state park ranger.

"Sir, are you all right?" the ranger asked through the open window.

Pete nodded and spoke quietly, "Must have dozed off."

The ranger offered a polite smile, "No problem. Do you have a camping permit?"

Pete shook his head, "No, I was just visiting for the afternoon… needed to get out of the city."

"I hear you… well, Park's closing up, if you're okay to drive, you can follow me to the exit."

"I am, sir... And thank you."

Pete watched the ranger return to his own vehicle, a large red truck with massive tires and floodlights fixed to the roof, and turned the Jeep in order to follow him out. Even in one of the quietest places, he still couldn't find peace. Hey waved as they reached the exit, passing the truck at a slow pace before heading up to the turnoff back onto the county highway. As he started the trek home, Pete did his best to think about his future and not his past. A difficult task, but one he felt was necessary.

While training for Wayne Enterprises, he would undo his connections at the Bank and would be able to leave that part of his life behind. He would be able to start anew, something he had tried several times in his life.

He couldn't abandon all of his past, not in a million years.

How could he possibly forget what the Whore did to him and his family? How she drove his mother to an early grave and forced his father into marrying her? A vixen, a sorceress, a witch. She alone had forced him into a life of violence, where he took control over others that were like her in a way he never even dreamed as a child.

Like his mother had said, it had been her fault, not his.

A sudden horn honk and shouting snapped him back into the present. There was no car behind him and large pines on the side of the road, the very outskirts of the state park, he reasoned. Directly in front of him was a car parked in the middle of his lane with no lights on and a young woman waving her arms.

Despite his quick reflexes, Pete did not swerve out of his lane to the left or right and was unable to stop completely from his fifty-five mile per an hour traveling rate. With a remarkably calm look on his face, he rear ended the stalled car that rested in the middle of his lane as the young woman raced off to the shoulder. Without hesitating, Pete cut the ignition on his car, unbuckled himself and stepped out. Aside from a slight burning on his neck where the seatbelt had abraded his skin, he felt no other sites of pain on his body.

Then he looked at the front of his car.

The hood had crumpled considerably and there were soft wanes of smoke sifting out and into the sky. The left hand tire had jutted out from under the car nearly four inches and the hubcap had been forced off. Both headlights were shattered, revealing the small bulb and the guts of wiring. As he surveyed the damage, the young woman ran up to him, swearing and screaming in a panic. After his long day, Pete had done his best to remain calm, "Are you all right?"

"All right? Look at my car! It just had a dead battery, now thanks to you asshole, it's a helluva lot more!"

She strode over to him, her high ponytail bobbing and her pixie face scrunched with anger. When she was a mere yard away she asked sarcastically, "What are you?

Blind and deaf? I was honking and waving my arms! Damn lucky I jumped out of the way when I did. This is all your fault!"

"Why were you in the middle of the road. You are supposed to pull off onto the shoulder."

"Um hello, do you honestly think I am strong enough to push my car by myself?" the woman snapped before turning away, swearing at her phone for not having service.

"We need to exchange insurance information."

"Well, first, we need to get a tow truck. And the cops. And you need to see your fucking eye doctor."

The very moment she turned away from him, he heard his mother, "It was all her fault, Peter, not yours."

"I should have been paying better attention," he replied.

The woman thought it had been directed to her and she shook her head, back still towards him, "Damn straight you should have… my uncle's a lawyer, you're screwed, pal."

"How dare she threaten you, Peter. She wants to hurt you."

"No," he muttered and strode after the girl.

As one of his hands grabbed her ponytail, the hooked around her neck, ending her profanity but cutting off her oxygen. As she frantically writhed in his hold, Pete dragged her to the shoulder and crossed the shallow ditch.

"It was all your fault," he whispered into her ear, tilting her head back by pulling on the mass of fair hair.

After stepping into the thick trees, Pete found a small, fern covered area, shoving her to the ground roughly so that she landed face down. He knelt on top of her, digging his knees into the back of hers as she gasped for air and clawed at the ground, trying to pull herself away. When she tried to reach back and claw at him, swearing and coughing hoarsely, he let go of her hair hand hit her, hard, at the right temple. She somehow managed to roll around from underneath him, kicking and clawing at him desperately.

She let out a muffled cry from under his hand as he hit her again, and again. In the dark cover, he could barely see her, only her bright, glassy eyes as they fluttered white. Pete paused for a moment, staring down at her limp figure as it struggled to breathe. Lifting his hand had been striking her with up to the night sky, he saw that it was bloodied.

He flashed to images of his mother's blood on his hands, how slick and warm it had been.

The rest was easy.

^V^

Southern Border of Rockledge State Park, June 29th, 3:21 a.m.

While watching the local six o' clock news over a cold roast beef sandwich and a cup of coffee, three feature stories of interest had been broadcasted. First had been a recap of the Deputy Mayor's press conference and morning news appearance and his plea for the killer to be brought in. In addition, there was coverage on SAIC Caffery's words formt hat morning as well as a special interview where he listed the crucial profile that he and his team had developed based on the facts that he had personally taken and observed in the investigation. The third had been that a county sheriff had come across two abandoned cars, both appeared to have sustained damage from an accident, but no signs of drivers or passengers on the scene.

The first car had been a small four-door sedan while the second had been a large SUV, both severely damaged from the collision, the latter rear-ending the former. What was peculiar was that both had the license plates and registrations cards removed, in addition to the VIN numbers scratched off and all personal effects removed. There were no indications of where either the drivers were, but both vehicles had been towed to the Gotham County impound yard and anyone with information relating to the accident could call the Sheriff's department.

I had started patrols early that night, taking a break shortly in to meet with the others at the Clocktower. Tim had explained that all of the interrogations made to the suspects in Caffery's list were bogus, all of them more then capable of explaining their alibis and backing them up. Of the two men that they had yet to locate, one had moved to a remote town in western Canada to avoid income taxes and the other had ended up being a missing person for nearly six months. A possible ID on a body in Washington DC was still unverifiable, but it was safe to assume he was out of the running.

I had nodded, "As expected… I want you and Cassandra to work through the bar patrons form Mimi's."

"Again?" Tim had asked, his mask in his hands.

"Yes, again. He had to have been in the bar, it's how he's choosing them. He picks one, let's them get comfortable… let's them get vulnerable. Interrogate the bartender if you have to. Visit everyone on the credit card list and those that she mentioned."

He had put his mask into place before replying, "Consider it done."

Dick had been quick to offer his help covering patrols on the south side of the city. Although I had never been one to show gratitude, especially to him, I was thankful that he had decided to help. His time off from work would be wrapping up shortly, but I had doubted that he was going to leave until things were safe for Gotham. Or at least safer.

I had agreed and let the three of them make their exit before asking Barbara to pull up anything she had on the car accident.

As she typed away, she had commented, "That was weird, wasn't it? As if the people involved in the crash were wiping their hands clean of it."

There had been no progress on the owners at that point or any viable leads on finding them. Fourteen missing persons reports had been filed that day, but none of them were owners of vehicles that matched either of the descriptions. She had promised to keep me posted as I headed back out into the night.

It had been much later that evening that I finally made it to the impound yard, deftly avoiding security cameras and a single patrolman in order to get a look at the two cars. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for the fact that the fairly new Jeep had a considerable amount of miles on it. I had Barbara start to run checks on similar makes and models having abundant oil changes or services over the last two years. After she had found nothing out of the ordinary, I had moved on.

With Selina staying at her penthouse that night, I had decided to extend my evening out by making a trek to the scene of the accident. If anything, it would give me time to clear my head and focus on something else, even if only for an hour or two. While making the drive down to Rockledge, I listened to police scanners, changing frequencies as I moved out into more rural settings. It was peculiar, hearing lulls in activity, listening to state troopers and sheriffs chatting more than reporting crime.

Less than a mile from the scene, a large doe leapt into the road, paused, ears erect and eyes glowing. Thankfully, I managed to stop and waited for the deer to make her move. She looked back in the direction she had just come and then bounded across the rest of the road to safety, a fawn, its spots already fading, went right after her.

The remainder of the drive was uneventful. I drove passed the actual scene and found a small dirt turnaround several yards up. After parking in the seclusion of tall, dark pine boughs, I made my way up on foot. I hadn't seen a single car or even a tractor trailer in over thirty minutes. With the nonexistent traffic, I used the privacy to cross the road and make my way towards a pair of skid marks on the asphalt.

The responding units from that morning had already cleaned up shattered glass and debris upon removing the vehicles. Despite their efforts, the tiniest of particles shimmered under my flashlight's beam as I scanned it over the asphalt. The tire marks left on the road were fairly straight, only minute hints of deviation, suggesting no attempt to swerve to miss the first car. According to the sheriff's report the first car had been in its braked position and had a dead battery, suggesting it had broken down and the second car had hit it.

Intentionally?

I photographed the tire tracks and then stepped down into the ditch and flashed my light across the short grass. Some disturbances, footprints, but it was hard to discern what had been from emergency personnel that had responded to the scene or if they were clues to where the drivers had ended up. Carefully searching the ditch, I found signs of heavy contamination, not only from the heavy boot prints but also tire tracks, fresh cigarette butts and even empty coffee cups.

A rustling within the trees caused me to look up abruptly, waiting for silence before I passed my light on the trees. I caught two pairs of glowing eyes reflecting back at me and then more rustling as they took off into the darkness. I followed the sound of movement with careful steps into the foliage, passing the light in front of me to set out a path. The eyes had been fairly low to the ground, so they hadn't been the deer I had encountered moments earlier.

Thirty yards later, there was more than just twigs snapping and dead leaves crackling. Sharp yaps and low growls and lots of glowing eyes. Even as I bared their cover with my flashlight, there was little effect to dim the aggression as the small cluster of coyotes frantically feasted. As if a practiced move, each looked up at me simultaneously and then dashed off. While they scattered away, I stepped forward to morbidly glance at their remains.

It took less than a second to differentiate what lay before me with any forest animal that the coyotes commonly preyed upon. Blue jeans pulled down to a pair of ankles, a ragged white sleeveless shirt ripped opened, exposing a light purple bathing suit and large gaping wounds. Soft, caramel hair matted with leaves and a pair of shocked dead blue eyes.

This had been the prey of a much bigger and much stronger predator.

"Oracle?"

She replied a moment later, "Ah, the midnight torch still burns, what do you need?"

"A crime scene unit and a morgue van."

I heard her typing on the other end, "Why are you out in the middle of no where? Is your GPS malfunctioning?"

"No, I'm just outside of the Rockledge State Park. Investigating the motor vehicle accident."

I crouched down next to the still form and looked beyond the small nips and tears as a result of the coyotes hard work. There were distinguished stab wounds that scarred the torso, deep and visceral gouges in the side that no animal could make. A massive edema at the temple and bruises on the lower abdomen nearly as prominent as those that marred her face and throat.

A pattern I had seen twelve times before.

^V^


	9. Closing In

Title: Do Unto Others: Closing In

Author: DC Luder

Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.

Rating: M

Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.

^V^

The Bat-Cave, June 29th, 6:31 a.m.

With Barbara's assistance, I had been able to download the file on the car accident from the sheriff's department. It hadn't been the shoddiest work I had seen, but it was close. They had done a fair enough job photographing the scene with a third rate digital camera and had also gone through the process of searching for matches on missing persons or stolen vehicles but neither had resulted in a hit. At the time being, they were making inquiries at the remote residences around the state park, hoping that someone had seen something.

Hope was not a method in solving crime, at least not one I practiced.

After the sheriff's department had made it to the scene in the wee hours of the night, I had departed, already collecting blood samples, photographing the body and taking scans of several boot prints that had led into the woods. The coyotes had obviously dragged the body from the actual kill site, which I had found thirty feet east. Copious amounts of blood splatter and pooling in addition to scattered footprints and drag marks. If I could match them to the previous prints taken, I would have physical connection to the previous murders instead of relying solely on my gut instinct.

I had made it back to the Cave just before six in the morning, Alfred ready and waiting with a breakfast tray and a carafe of fresh coffee. After directing him to set them on the workbench of the computer bay, I took ten minutes to shower and change, hoping to scrub away the fatigue. When I had emerged, he had waited until I had taken a seat before pouring the first of many cups.

"Ms. Selina called last night."

I had been occupied with logging onto the computer, slightly put off when I found that Barbara had signed off already. I had taken the steaming mug from him, sipped carefully and had replied, "I'll call her later."

"Very well, sir. I take it from the determination beaming from your eyes that you have made progress?"

"In a way," I had responded without looking at him, my gaze directed at the screen as I looked through the file Barbara had composed the previous day. Regrettably, Tim and Cassandra had made no headway in their work from the previous night, nor had Dick. I had briefed Alfred on the discovery of another victim at the scene of the odd motor vehicle accident and then voiced my interim plan aloud.

"The suspects the feds have don't match either of the cars. There was no ID on this new victim, so the coroner is going to have to rely on alternative methods of figuring out who she is. If someone reports her missing, that would help, but I can't count on it," I plugged in the vehicle description into the state DMV and linked it to a face recognition from the photos I had taken.

Alfred had cleared his throat at the sight of the ghastly face and said, "Thankfully, we can always count on you, Master Bruce."

While I had waited for the search to hopefully put a name to the face, I had then started another comparison with the new boot prints to those we had on file. Sure enough, a perfect match. Not a second later, the DMV search had completed, with three possible results. One of the young women lived in Newark, the second in a small rural town over a hundred miles away and the last lived in Greeneville.

Just outside of Rockledge.

"This is her, it has to be," I had muttered to myself. Claire Sumner. Aged 23. Blonde and blue, five and one-half feet tall. Corrective contact lenses and she was a registered organ donor. I had the crays bring up whatever else there was on file for the late Claire Sumner and had proceeded to drain the rest of the mug as multiple windows popped up. Two arrests, one two years earlier for public intoxication and the second for indecent exposure. Skimming the police reports, she had just had too much fun for the local police to handle.

"There aren't any bars near the state park," I had muttered.

"Sir?"

"He seems to find them at bars, or near bars. There isn't one for miles out there. She had car trouble, not a drunk driving accident," I had proceeded to think out loud. Rising from the chair, I collected the blood samples and swabs I had taken from her and quickly descended the metal steps to the lab. It would be several hours until the DNA typing, toxicology screen and the Chem-7 metabolic test results were done, but I had plenty to accomplish in the meantime.

Returning to the computer bay, I had been surprised to find Alfred missing. The breakfast tray, however, had still been present, subtly pushed two feet closer to the main keyboard.

Ushering me to eat even in his absence…

As I took a seat, a new window popped up, showing Barbara's less than cheery visage. After a brief yawn, she offered after yawning, "Sorry, had to catch at least an hour of sleep…"

"No apology necessary," I replied, stomaching the urge to yawn myself.

As I brought her up to speed with the very possible identification of the latest victim, Barbara countered with information Tim and Cassandra had come upon from the night before. With Mimi's Bar re-opening soon, they had made security alterations including cameras and better lighting in the parking lot. My two youngest partners had spent pre-dawn hours studying the modifications after checking in on every male that had been in attendance the night of the early June murder. Just before five in the morning, Mimi herself had come in with buckets of paint and two teenaged boys to help paint the interior.

"Robin made his move, confronted her. She seemed genuinely forthcoming that she couldn't remember any more details about that night. By then, I had already told him that the Jeep was possibly the killer's. He asked her if anyone that night was driving a similar model and she said yes. One of the regulars drove a Jeep Cherokee."

"Who?"

"Pete No Name."

"Even if she can't remember his last name, it easily could have been an alias. I doubt he would leave that blatant of a trail."

"Right, Well, I've already started getting a list off of the state and regional states' DMV listings, hopefully we can find something."

Again, hope was something I was short on.

Having yet to sleep, my eyes felt grainy as they stared up at the busy monitor display. Crime scene photos, new and old, an assembled dossier of the late Claire Sumner along with a video window of Barbara's tired face.

I found myself speaking aloud, "Even taking the wild animal interference, this victim suffered extreme assault, more than the others."

"Ferocity," Barbara offered, "He might have caught wind of Caffrey's public address, felt panicked."

"Or … he was proving something. That he's not afraid."

A new window opened on the screen, a result of the media flag system that had already been preprogrammed to bring up any news coverage of the case. Caffrey had decided to host another press conference, interrupting the morning news with an important announcement.

"You seeing this?" Barbara asked.

I nodded but didn't reply, remaining silent as the federal agent declared that the accident in Rockledge resulted in another murder as well as the possible acquirement of the suspect's car. He proceeded to claim that he himself had made the connection after following a hunch and looking further into the crime scene. The reality had been that I had called Gordon directly from the scene before leaving. A reporter boldly asked if any of the suspects questioned the day before were in custody and Caffrey declined to comment.

That single remark led to a barrage of questions insinuating that the federal agent had let a killer loose back on the streets, followed by angry shouts and Caffrey being promptly escorted away from the mob.

I nearly smirked. Nearly.

Barbara sighed before remarking, "I've been working on locating dealerships and used car lots in the state to see if any of the same make and model had been sold in the last five years and if any private parking lots have it listed."

"Anything?"

"I've found about twenty possible matches on the second car within a hundred mile radius of Gotham. Twelve have been registered in new states, changed owners and moved out of the area or have been totaled and sold for parts. There are eight are in working licensed order."

"Male owners?"

"Five," she paused before reading aloud, "Larry Graff, late forty year old in Bryanttown, Elder Gonzalez, sixty-nine year old in Chelsea, Peter Placido, late thirties in Glenville, Gabe Cavanaugh, twenty-three year old in the Village and Henry Watts, thirty-six year old in the East End. All are clean save for Graff and Cavanaugh, both have arrest records for domestic violence and aggravated assault."

As she had listed them off, I had plugged them into the computer, watching as the names gave way to faces.

"And none have reported their vehicles missing?"

"I've flagged auto theft records and scanners, so far nothing."

Nothing… was something I was used to.

Nothing… was something I was unable to accept.

Nothing…

"Bruce?"

I glanced up to see Barbara's face, nearly lost amidst the activity on the screen.

"What?"

"I think…" she paused, "You faded out for a second. If you want, I'll keep working on this if you want to-."

""I'm fine," I cut her off before closing the connection.

After a moment of bat shrieks echoing, "Ms. Gordon was in the midst of making a very wise suggestion, sir."

I turned to look at Alfred with all of the resentment I could muster.

He showed no outward response other than the faintest of a smirk, "Ah, but then again you do seem to thrive on near exhaustion, hunger and dehydration. What a gladiator you would have made, sir."

Rather than bark at him, I simply ignored him until he quietly departed, leaving me alone with my work. Months of photographs, crime scene breakdowns, meager collections of hard evidence and more coroner reports bearing the same cause of death than I cared for.

In the mass of information was the answer. It was my job to find it. And my job alone.

^V^

Residence of Peter Placido, June 30th, 8:32 a.m.

For entire day, he had laid on his bed, hidden beneath blankets despite the warm summer air drifting through the window.

Low traffic areas and cover from the woods had helped him jog nearly the entire trek back and by the time he had reached civilized life, it was well into the middle of the night. Although five hours had lapsed since he had left that girl in the woods, Pete had been too occupied with maintaining his breathing while running or taking brief breaks to calm his vitals. As exhausted as he was upon returning home, it was no wonder he slept in bed for so long.

Before Pete had crashed into his bed, he had buried the young woman's purse, the license plates and registration cards in the back flowerbed, four feet below the surface. He had then showered for nearly an hour, scouring his body with soap in order to remove the sweat and blood and dirt that had been layering his skin. Afterwards, it was necessary for him to wash the tub out and then to soak the clothes he had worn in the washer. After several glasses of water, he had locked himself in his bedroom, shut the lights off and had crawled into bed.

He had tried to watch television but every woman that came on the screen changed before his eyes. First, they grew to resemble the Whore and they laughed at him. And as anger bubbled inside him, the faces would transform again, to the girl on the road, screaming at him. And then she would alter herself, taking on the battered and dead look after he had taken care of her.

He decided it was safer to just lay there with his eyes closed.

As sunlight began to sift through the closed curtains as the second morning breached, Pete did his best to keep his eyes shut. When he was little, his mother would come into his room early in the morning to wake him for a special breakfast for just the two of them. He had always pretended to be asleep so that she would go through the process of tickling his back in order to wake him. She would make him whatever he wanted for breakfast, and he was always torn between French Toast and Eggs in a Basket.

Not long after, he had to adjust to making himself cold cereal for breakfast…

The phone rang, interrupting the silence of the near vacant house..

Since the answering machine was in the corridor, Pete had to finally uncover his head as he strained to listen to the caller's message. He rarely received phone calls, not even from telemarketers. He could have gotten out of bed. There had been no loud knocks on his door saying that his vehicle had been found in a motor vehicle accident. But he for the first time in his life, he had understood why his mother had longed for the safety of her bed.

You could pretend it was all a bad dream….

As the tone sounded on the machine, Pete's stomach growled painfully, longing for his mother's French toast and Eggs in a Basket or at the very least, toast. He decided that it was safe to emerge from the bedroom, rising from the bed with a serious of stiff movements and joints popping. Inactivity for such an extended period of time had never happened to him before. Rather than head for the machine, Pete opted to wash up and changed into jeans and faded green polo shirt.

Making his way to the kitchen to satisfy his next primal need, he passed the phone and answering machine he pressed the play button. There were first of the three messages had been from First National asking him to come in for an exit interview. The third had been from the dry cleaners to pick up his new suits, and the second had been the one from that morning.

"Mr. Placido, this is Connie at Human Resources at Wayne Enterprises. I was calling to remind you that the introduction brunch is this morning at nine, hopefully we'll see you there."

After a moment's pause, he deleted them all.

Again, he had lost control of his behavior in a public setting. Yes, she had asked to be punished for her outlandish behavior, but he could have gone through the process of calling a tow truck and dealing with the insurance agencies. She hadn't been outwardly suggestive neither had she displayed any real characteristic that resembled the Whore. The young woman had simply made him angry by being disrespectful and he had…. Overreacted.

He shouldn't have killed her.

The thought hadn't come to him until he had made him home, thirty-six miles on foot, from Rockledge. He had been exhausted rather than exhilarated from his claiming of another foul creature. But as he settled into his pillows, he had replayed the events on that county highway. He hadn't been paying attention, it was his fault. She hadn't been one of them, she had only been a mean, selfish person. Even as sleep had taken hold of him that first night, Pete had tried to rationalize his actions but couldn't find the justification.

But his mother had said…

His mother was dead…

And there he was, standing alone in the kitchen a day and a half later. He couldn't get through watching a television program, he couldn't even get up to answer the phone, let alone go out and face the world.

As Pete poured himself a glass of water from the tap, he mused that perhaps he could call later, excuse his behavior…

There was no excuse for what he had done.

But his mother…

Pete threw the glass at the wall, watching coldly as it shattered and fell to the floor.

Why was he doubting his judgment? There had been no questioning the others, their fates had been sealed the second they had revealed their true nature to him. That woman, that creature had been just as deserving as the others, hadn't she?

Stomach still churning, Pete went about sweeping up the broken glass and disposing of it in a paper grocery bag. Upon taking it out to the garage, Pete stepped back into the house to find he wasn't alone after all. He had never been alone, she had always been there for him, at least in spirit. Even still, he had no desire to listen to her, to hear how he had misbehaved and been unable to control his temper.

He managed to ignore her as he went about making scrambled eggs, toast and bacon, not as fancy as his former special breakfasts but it was quick and easy. Plating the meal, he poured another glass, that time milk. As he sat at the small kitchen table, he tried to eat, but found himself staring down at the steaming food.

"Peter?"

He set his hands on the edge of the table, his knuckles bruised and sore from hitting her in the face…

"Peter?"

He had killed her for the wrong reason.

He couldn't ignore her when he felt her breath on the back of his neck and her voice in his ear, "Peter?"

But she had told him to.

He didn't reply, but simply stood there, hardly even breathing.

"Peter, you're upset."

He lied to her, "No."

"Why are you upset?"

"You are… You must not feel well…"

The faintest pressure appeared on his forehead, like so many other mornings when she had felt for a fever. He had grown to hate school, mostly because the other children had grown to hate him. No matter how badly he had tried to fake it, he would have to go to school and withstand their ridicule each day.

The pressure faded and he heard her say, "You should rest, Peter."

"No… I've rested enough, mother."

"Peter-."

"No," he barked, "You're wrong, and you were wrong about her… she wasn't one if them, she wasn't like her!" His mother remained silent, so he continued, "It was an accident, it was my fault! And look what I did because of it?"

She made no reply.

She was gone.

Pete finished his breakfast, did the dishes and returned to bed, feeling no better than when he had gotten up. He knew eventually she would come back and he would apologize for raising his voice, for saying such cruel things. Perhaps she had been right. The Whore had a mouth as well, one she had used to hurl insults and redirect blame away from herself. Perhaps under better circumstances Peter would have been able to see what he his mother had.

Either way, it was too late to change anything.

He had never reveled in how it felt to take them, or how he made it so that they would never hurt anyone ever again. Once smiling faces reduced to swelling and split lips, whimpers and pleas fading to silence. Smooth, tempting flesh left blood drained and slashed. He had only sought after the satisfaction of pleasing his mother, of upholding the promise he had made.

But as he had dragged her into the woods, he had done so with a smile on his face…

His mother's voice returned, as soft and sweet as it had ever been, "Peter… she is like the others, she is like that whore that took your father away from us… She didn't follow the golden rule."

Pete thought back to how livid the woman had been while Pete tried to remain calm and orderly. How she had swore and spit vile words at him, threatening him while he acted passively.

"You remember the golden rule, don't you, Peter?"

He nodded and looked straight ahead, as if she was laying in bed with him. He could smell her perfume, see her bloodshot eyes, feel her hand on his.

"Yes. Do unto others... As you would have them do unto you."

"That's my boy..."

^V^

Wayne Enterprise Reception Hall, June 30th, 9:09 a.m.

"Mr. Wayne, so glad you could make it," Connie Vreeland-Rhyes waved at me from the head of a small buffet table. She was wearing a silky powder blue pants suit and too much make up and perfume. Even still, I took her hand into mine and told her that she looked stunning. A slight blush came to her cheeks, "Oh, Bruce, please."

I hadn't slept in three days. My head was ready to implode any minute. Somehow, I shrugged, put a smile on my face and glanced around the room, "So, where are the lucky new recruits?"

She gestured to a row of linen covered tables where several members of HR and the heads of various other departments were seated and working away at their plates, piled high with free food. As we walked over, she spoke quietly, "There was one new employee, a security guard, he didn't show up and he's not answering at his house. I wonder if something may have come up... Who knows."

After greeting the familiar faces and introducing myself to the new ones, I took a seat and did my best to act casual and interested in the new members of "Team Wayne." I made no effort to memorizes faces to the names as the odds were that I would never interact with them ever again. After ten minutes, I started checking my watch on a regular two-minute basis in order to insinuate that I had more important things to do.

Connie was the first to speak up, "Bruce, if you've got a busy schedule..."

I stood and nodded, "Actually, I'm afraid I do. It's Wednesday," I stated as if that explained everything. Before departing, I went and congratulated the new employees once more, wished them the best and shook their hands before taking Connie aside. She seemed honored to be in my sole company, and did her best to show it by batting her eyelashes and pursing her lips. I paused then asked, "So this fellow that didn't come today..."

"Yeah, I'm kind of concerned myself, it doesn't seem like him to not show up, he's a very punctual person. He used to work with my brother-in-law, said he never missed a day of work…

"Do you know this employee, personally?"

She shook her head and pulled back a loose string of hair, "Pete? No, I feel like I do though, he's that kind of a person… very genuine… all of the other applicants had similar training and experience, but he just had that extra quality, made me feel safe." I frowned at her and Connie was quick to place her hand on my arm, "Don't let this influence your image of him Bruce, he's a really nice man."

"Pete…" I said aloud, shrugging with a sigh, "You're probably right, I bet something came up. I'll have to meet him some other time."

With that, I said goodbye and forced myself to leisurely stroll down the corridor to the nearest elevator bank. After inserting the keycard that lead me directly to the executive floor, I leaned my forehead against the cool gilded wall and closed my eyes, hoping to will away the throbbing in my skull. When the doors opened up, I avoided assistants trying to get my attention, managed to bypass Lucius as he did battle with the CFO and made it to the safety of my office. Immediately, I locked the door, shed my suit coat and removed my tie.

Settling at my desk, I buzzed Melinda to have her hold my calls and she readily confirmed. I signed onto my corporate computer before retrieving my personal laptop from my briefcase. There was work to be done that day, but barely any of it required Bruce Wayne. As the laptop turned on, I returned to the keyboard on my desk, working my way into Human Resources with little effort. I had over a thousand of people who worked under the banner of Wayne Enterprises, ten new hires didn't account for much of anything.

Save for one.

After gaining access to recent hires, I opened up the surname lacking Pete to look over his resume and employee records. It was a typical dossier listing personal information, education, work and training experience in addition car information for parking permits. Each file also bore a copy of their photo ID card.

When Pete's came up, my heart skipped a beat.

Peter Placido.

Dark green Jeep Grand Cherokee.

Placido's résumé was indeed impressive. What caught my eye was under his education, where he listed a substantial amount of training at the Police Academy. Killers of the nature I had been stalking of late, often found it amusing to either attempt or pretend to be a police officer, some going the lengths of becoming invested in the profession to learn the ways of being detected in order to avoid them.

I had never been one to jump to conclusions, but there were rare cases when the conclusions reached out to me. Peter Placido, the second car's possible owner, was not in attendance at a scheduled work event that just so happened to be at Wayne Enterprises. Not having access to his car would be the most likely for he had missed the brunch. The previous night, we had split up visiting the various owners that had that specific vehicle registered in their name. Cassandra had visited Placido's reporting back that no was home.

I had been intent to place the blame on those with criminal records.

Idiot.

I had always done my best to separate my two lives, but somehow they always seemed to meet when I least expected them to…

Since he was hired as a security guard, he also had to pass a psychiatric evaluation, one of which he had passed with flying colors. I read further, intrigued that his parents were both listed as deceased. Moving to the laptop, I logged onto the Oracom network and began searching for death certificates. Nothing else seemed out of place, every t crossed and i dotted. I was half-tempted to dial the phone number listed under how to contact him but decided against it. Instead, I called Barbara.

"I thought you were going to work?"

"I am… had to attend a new employee brunch." I proceeded to fill her in on the details of the morning. "It seems that Placido requires more attention than I presumed."

There was a long pause before she replied, "Interesting. It's a small world, isn't it?"

"Too small."

She paused again before offering, "Well, I've been keeping on top of the Federal Bunch of Idiots hunkered down at GCPD headquarters, most likely driving my father insane… They've been complaining about the lead that you gave to my father to give to them. As much as they hated to admit it, they have to follow it. Been running all over the city this morning trying to pin one of them as the killer."

I remained silent as the death certificates came up for Placido's parents. His mother died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the had when he was eight years old, a result of loss to untreated manic-depression. His father, re-married to a younger woman, had died of cirrhosis and heart disease many years later.

Forwarding it to Barbara, she reviewed them before commenting, "Not the perfect life for a non-violent, upstanding citizen, if you ask me."

"Almost perfect for a violent one," I said quietly into the phone.

She agreed and then continued, "Want me to send Cass out to his place again, check things out?"

I deliberated silently before affirming, "She is not to make contact with him, strictly observation. Follow him if he leaves the house. Wait for him if he's not there."

"That should be fine, she is, after all the strong silent type." I heard a muffled conversation as she informed Cassandra and the young girl acknowledged and set out. Barbara returned, "Plan on sharing any of this with the local authorities?"

"Of course, after I catch him. Not until."

First item of business was to confirm the owner of the car that had been left behind at the scene. Robin had drawn prints the night before from the impounded vehicles but we only had the two car owners with prints on file and neither were matches. There had been no traces of blood or stray fibers either, suggesting he was as meticulous in his life as he was at his crime scenes.

Perhaps Placido was a victim as well, rotting somewhere out in the woods.

Maybe he had dragged that girl out in the trees and beaten and stabbed her to death.

I looked at the soft smile of the handsome man's photo ID record.

Was he capable of doing the unthinkable?

Dead ends, everywhere I turned.

Dead ends and wrong turns.

^V^


	10. HOME

Title: Do Unto Others: HOME

Author: DC Luder

Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.

Rating: M

Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.

^V^

Residence of Peter Placido, June 30th, 11:21 p.m.

"No one home."

I stood beside Batgirl, enclosed in the darkness of a cluster of oaks. My binoculars were trained on the small, plain house across the street. It was modest but well-kept and framed by a tended lawn and garden. No lights were on inside and there was no car in the drive nor in the garage. Batgirl had been watching the house since eleven in the morning, sitting in the leafy branches for over twelve hours, waiting for me to arrive.

Or preferably, Placido.

When darkness had fallen earlier that evening, I had asked Batgirl to take prints off of the knob on the front door. They were easy matches to those Robin had found in the impounded Jeep, erasing any remaining uncertainty that he was our prime suspect. In conjunction with the fact that he had gone unseen and unaccounted for approaching two days, I had started to wonder if he had fled, feeling the pressure of his last act.

Or if it was his pattern, disappearing so that he could be on the prowl…

"Stay here?" Batgirl asked suddenly. her voice barely above a whisper.

"Did you install the motion sensors? Cameras?"

She nodded, "All doors, house and garage."

"Good… you can leave. I'll take a closer look."

Her form straightened, stiffening slightly before she stepped out of the cover of the trees, dashing down the street to where she had secured her cycle. Given her upbringing, she had never learned to accept defeat, even in her brief time working at my side. She would have been more than willing to sit for another twelve hours, waiting for our suspect to make an appearance. An admirable trait, but one I felt guilty abusing.

Moments later, I heard her start the cycle and speed off, returning to Gotham to put her abilities to use in a more active sense. I replaced my binoculars to their compartment on the utility belt before glancing up and down the street. The neighborhood itself was fairly quiet, most of its inhabitants tucked in for the night, resting up for a commute into the city and a long day of work. When I was certain that there were no approaching vehicles or prying eyes, I crossed quickly and headed for the garage.

The door opened manually and I lifted it just three feet off of the ground before slipping inside and closing it behind me. After a pause, I retrieved a flashlight and scanned the area. As expected, it was neat and tidy, shelving along two of the three walls, most bearing plastic storage totes, typical gardening equipment and hand tools.

On the third wall, the one sharing with the house, I found a small, practically empty refrigerator, a lawn mower that had seen better days and a smaller set of shelves full of car supplies neatly organized. He changed his own oil filters from the looks of his inventory, of which had kept him off of the radar when Barbara had looked for extraneous service patterns. The cement floor was meticulously swept and clear of even the slightest oil stain.

The neatness of the scenes was suddenly evident that it had been an extension of his home keeping habits.

The door that connected the house to the garage was locked, but took minimal manipulation to open soundlessly. No deadbolt but then again it was a nice neighborhood and he was obviously capable of taking care of himself. I walked down a narrow hall, carpeted in beige, acted as the entrance. To the left, I spotted a tidy laundry room complete with an empty washer and dryer and an ironing board ready for duty. As I traveled down the corridor, I noticed that there were no photographs or paintings on the walls. No sign of any effort to make the house a home.

A den was placed at the end of the hall, modestly furnished with a television, recliner and small sofa and clean but chipped coffee table. In the far corner, I spotted an old desk, its surface bare except for a ceramic jar of pens and a framed photograph. Moving closer, I looked to see it was of a young woman, giving a small smile to the photographer. I recognized the image instantly as that of Placido's mother. The drawers were in order and had little in them. Receipts, a bank book ledger that put his checking account balance at just shy if one-thousand and sixty five dollars with a savings at not much more than that,

No getaway money. Unless he had kept that elsewhere.

Further investigation revealed a kept kitchen with the barest of necessities, two spacious and lightly furnished bedrooms, of which only one bore a dresser and closet full of clothes. Old security uniforms, jeans, khakis, sweaters and some dress shirts and ties, only three pairs of shoes, one of them worn sneakers. Not a single sign of trophies, stained clothing or anything out of the ordinary. Off of the inhabited room, I found a claustrophobic bathroom and I was quick to check the bathtub. I noticed a hint of grime at the drain, prompting me to remove the metal barrier. Within the drainage pipe, I took samples of what appeared to be mud that would no doubt match those I had taken in the woods…

The medicine cabinet yielded no anti-psychotics or anti-depressants, nothing aside from aspirin, athlete's foot cream, liniment, eye drops and a bottle of antacids.

Quiet, pleasant man. Genuinely kind. Until he was wielding a knife.

Returning to the bedroom, I looked through the night table drawers, finding only more depressing vacancy. There was, however, a small photo album in the bottom drawer beneath some out dated vinyl records. Holding the flashlight in my mouth, I opened the album and skimmed the pages, watching as a small, thin child grew up from infancy onward. Lots of smiles until age five, then the low resolution prints started showing fake ones. His mother, most likely the photographer, was in very few of the photographs, the father, a squat man with a lash of light brown hair, joined in a handful of them, mainly for fishing and bicycle endeavor supervision.

Then the pictures stopped altogether, leaving dozens of empty pages.

I had a similar album at home, a young child I can hardly remember, beaming up at the cameras with toothy grins. And then no more smiles and eventually no more pictures.

There had been nothing left to smile about.

Before leaving, I placed motion sensors and recording devices throughout the rooms, hoping to be notified if Placido returned before the feds were able to put the pieces of the puzzle together. His house was actually closer to Bristol than I had cared for, but at least it made for a short commute if something happened.

Instead of making my way home, I returned into the city, slowly making my way to Tri-Corner while battling a number of unpleasant citizens. Arriving at the Clocktower just before two-thirty, I was surprised to see that Oracle was not alone in her chamber, but sharing the small room with Nightwing.

After making my presence known, Barbara glanced over her shoulder briefly, "All of the internal and external sensors are up and running. If he even looks at his front door, we'll know it."

Nightwing pulled his mask off while yawning, "You honestly think he'll go back there?"

I replied, "It's a possibility. The loss of his vehicle and whatever happened in Rockledge has forced change upon him…"

Dick looked straight at me, "Yeah, but we don't know if he'll withdraw to lick his wounds or come out guns blazing."

Glancing to the monitors recording every entrance to the Placido residence, I retorted, "Which is why we need to be ready when he decides what path he's going to take."

Barbara offered, "The Deputy Mayor's pleading bought us a voluntary curfew but that isn't going to stop anyone… or him, not at this point. Sharon had no alcohol in her blood, had reportedly been driving home from water skiing with friends at the state park. He chose her completely out of his element, out of the environment he's been lurking in this entire time."

Dick paused before saying, "Somehow, I don't think he's going to be the hiding type."

On one of Barbara's monitors, she had a face shot of every victim thus far, all neatly organized in chronological order beneath an image of Placido. The pieces of the puzzle, however few, were coming together, finally giving us a name to the monster that had been hiding in the darkness. I was in agreement with Dick, after all he had done, Placido wouldn't be the type to hide, even if he was aware that we were on his tail.

A cornered animal was far more dangerous than those than roamed freed.

^V^

Humble Inn, July 1st, 3:51 a.m.

Even in the warmth of his bed, Pete found that he no longer felt safe.

After self-assigned house arrest, Pete had left his house at nine the previous morning, dressed casually in jeans and a green polo shirt, a small backpack slung over his left shoulder. He waved to his immediate neighbor, Dale something, as he lazily mowed on his riding lawn tractor. Thankfully the loud machine had prevented the man from stopping Pete to engage him in meaningless conversation.

Pete had kept walking for three miles, passing out of the residential area to busier commercial suburbia. Hunger had found him at noon and Pete had decided to treat himself to lunch at a small, tasteful diner next to a gas station. He had flashed suddenly to Mimi's, how he longed for Miranda's kind words and the Tuesday chicken sandwich.

Never again, he had thought to himself. She took yet another part of my life away.

He had settled for a roast beef melt with steak fries and a tall, cold root beer. Childish, but he had longed for something to make him feel good and if that meant ordering like he was six years old again than so be it. Paying his small tab in cash, Pete had then walked another mile, passing by busy shops and restaurants filled with happy people. He had caught his reflection in the windows and his tired face had been painful to look at.

It was then Pete decided he had needed to find somewhere to stay, maybe somewhere where she wouldn't be able to find him. Rather than continue on to the busier hotels, Pete had settled on the Humble Inn, one of the better maintained albeit older motels in the area. He paid for a week's stay in cash, gave them the name of his mother's favorite actor, Anthony Quinn, and made a request that no calls be sent to his room. The young man at reception had eagerly complied, especially after Pete had tipped hi fifty dollars.

After finding his room, Pete had carefully set his backpack on the small bureau before stripping out of his clothes. He had then taken a long shower, not even bothering to let the water warm before stepping in. As he scrubbing with a washcloth, he thought to himself, trying to make sense of the last few days.

How had it come to this? How could he not feel safe in his own house? He knew the second he returned, she would be there, waiting for him. Pushing him. He wasn't ready for another one. In fact, he thought he had done too-.

Standing, he shook his head and muttered, "No, it will never be enough."

No matter what he did, he would never be able to undo all that had been done to his family, to his mother. He would never be able to spare the world of every one of their kind, but he certainly had to try.

He had slept fitfully, dreams of flying things and thunder keeping him from peaceful rest. When he had awoke a little before four in the morning, he was covered in a cold sweat, his breath coming in pants. Realization as to why he was so upset came to him, along with a shiver of terror going down his spine.

Even when he had been sulking in bed for two days straight, Pete had still managed to lay there and write in his journal. He had made the effort to put his confusing thoughts into writing in hops of making sense of them. Re-reading the entries of those two days had made him all the more upset, seeing how his emotions had been getting the best of him, even impeding upon his near perfect penmanship.

But sitting in his dark motel room, Pete realized that he had not packed his journal.

Calling a taxicab, Pete went about dressing haphazardly, his mind overrun with thoughts that his mother would find the journal and read through it. She would think he had gone weak, that he didn't love her or that he no longer hated the whore enough to do what needed to be done. It couldn't have been further than the truth, but Pete knew how sensitive she was about things. He took to waiting impatiently outside of his motel room, awaiting the cab's arrival, tapping his foot and trying to control his breathing.

The ride was unbearable as the driver reeked of strong coffee and bad cabbage and drove far too slowly for Pete's preference. The second the car stopped, he paid in full, no tip, and stepped out. Within seconds, he picked up the newspaper from the driveway, unlocked the front door and was inside. He listened carefully before proceeding any further into the house. Something still felt off and it brought an unsettling feeling to his stomach. Before attending to his journal, Pete took a careful search through the entire house and garage, all the while listening for her.

He was surprised to finally hear her in his bedroom, "Over here, Peter."

Following the voice lead him to his dresser. The top left drawer was closed completely, of which he had left a fraction open the day before. Upon opening it, nothing looked out of place, but something was off, not quite as he had left it. Had she done it? Gone through his personal belongings, his pictures? Had she found his journal, was she looking for something else he was hiding from her?

She had never disturbed any of his personal items before, why would she start to?

He had always done his best to keep things neat and orderly, to make things look nice for her. Whenever he had gone in her room when she was in a bad time, he would make sure to wash his hands and face and to comb his hair, wear clean clothes and tie his shoes.

Every so often, she would smile.

Pete looked through the rest of his belongings and finding nothing else out of order, he decided it was okay to stay. He could feel her presence but she had yet to say another word. The silent treatment, he thought to himself, or was she just having a bad morning?

Exhausted from a fitful night, Pete decided there was no point in attempting a run. Instead, he changed into a fresh set of clothes, ate a bowl of oatmeal and then he set the sat at his desk. He pulled out a pen from the drawer along with his latest journal.

He wrote the date, briefly musing that it was his father's birthday. Had he not died, he would have been sixty-eight years old, and Pete was quick to note that in his entry. Pete then scribbled out the small paragraph, a scowl coming to his lips as the image of the Whore came to his mind. His father's first birthday party after his mother had died had been extravagant, all of his work friends, all of their new neighbors invading their house. The Whore had filled every room with red and white streamers and matching balloons. She had even dressed in a red and white dress, layering bright red lipstick on her hideous face…

"Pete, stop crying, you're ruining this party!"

"Pete, are you listening to me?"

"Pete, go to your room!"

"No!" he snarled suddenly, swinging his arm across the desk surface, sending the journal flying. It caught the edge of the picture of his mother and both slipped onto the floor. He reached for it, missed and watched dumbfounded as it collided with the floor, the glass shattering upon impact. After falling to his knees slowly, Pete looked down at the mess he had created, glass pieces covering the image of his mother. He went to pick the frame up, and sliced the side of his hand, letting droplets of blood fall onto the picture.

He stared at the bloodied image for a long time, unable to believe what he saw.

It wasn't the soft features of his mother, it wasn't even past images of her face after she had killed herself.

It was the smiling face of the Whore, looking back up at him, laughing.

^V^

Wayne Manor, July 1st, 3:55 a.m.

I had found my way to the Cave a little after three, not entirely sated by my work touring the city, but also lacking any energy to do anything more. Slowly making my way to the costume vault, I had shed my guise and proceeded to apply liniment to my shoulders and neck before donning a clean cotton robe. Spending most of the last few days on my feet or stuck behind a computer had branded me with tense muscles that longed for one of Selina's backrubs.

My eyes grainy and mind running in circles, I had opted to put off logging my activities and had bypassed the computer bay entirely. It took longer than I had cared to admit to climb the granite steps and make my way to the kitchen. Seeing how it was too late for Alfred to stay up and too early for him to wake, I had found a plate waiting for me in the refrigerator. Medium rare duck, sweet potatoes, long stemmed green beans and a hand crafted tomato rose garnish.

No note.

I had eaten the meal cold, barely tasting the effort he had obviously put into it, washing it down in forceful bites and swallows of whole milk. I had found the silence of the kitchen nook comforting, my gaze alternating between my hallowed reflection in the window and the plate before me.

Right before me…

He had been right before me the entire time, the thought fluttered to my mind's surface, making my stomach churn and putting and end to my appetite.

Leaving the soiled dishware in the sink, I had tried to shake menacing thoughts while taking the stairs two at a time to the third floor. With it approaching four in the morning, I had mentally planned out the next day. Sleep until seven, half passed at the latest. Get myself as deep into Placido's miserable life as possible. Hope he made the mistake of coming home. Bring him into custody, after a few broken bones.

Passing through the open door, I had left it ajar before shuffling across the darkened room and collapsing face down onto the bed. Instead of my face landing on the soft comforter covering the mattress, it had collided with the soft comforter covering a pair of shapely legs.

Of course, Alfred wouldn't have prepared such a culinary treat for me, knowing I would have preferred something less savory and more substantial.

"Bruce, Jesus…" Selina had shot up in bed, "Are you all right?"

I had sat up as well, although much more slowly, "I'm fine… didn't know you were here."

Selina had turned the bedside lamp, worry tainting her features, "I called you… several times. Even hounded down Alfred..."

After a sigh, I had reclined once more, letting my head to settle against the down pillows, "Busy night…"

"Another girl?"

I had precious little time to sleep and getting into the case verbally would get the gears grinding mentally. Closing my eyes, I had replied, "No, just… a possible suspect. Spent the day keeping tabs on him, bugged his house, but he's no where to be found."

"Well, who is it?"

"Selina, please…"

"Sorry," she had responded softly.

When I hadn't heard the click of the lamp or the sound of her laying back down, I opened my eyes, "What?"

She had reached out and touched my shoulder softly, "When you didn't call me back, I was… worried. When I got a hold of Alfred this afternoon, he said you were fine, just overrun… I wasn't going to come up but-."

I had no idea why, but I had whispered, "Maybe you shouldn't have."

Not realizing she had heard me, I rolled onto my side in order to face away from her. The time we had spent together of late had been filled with strained silence instead of pleasant quiet moments. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had tried to think of the last time we had actually enjoyed each others company but had come up without a concrete result. After Placido was caught, then we would be able to get back on track, then we would-.

Suddenly, I felt her move beside me, although instead of lying beside me, she rose from the bed. I waited a moment before sitting up, watching dumbfounded as she angrily pulled a black dress on before looking for her shoes in the dim lighting. Sighing, I called out her name but she ignored my futile effort at stopping her.

"Stop," I offered. She found her stilettos and promptly threw one of them at me, of which I narrowly caught before it impaled itself into my forehead. At that, I rose from the bed and approached her, "You misunderstood what I said."

When I paused to stand in front of her, she ripped the shoe away from me, "Oh, no… I think I understood you quite well, in fact."

"Please, it's been a long night… a long week," I tried to excuse my remark as if the damage could be undone, "Let's just-."

Shoes in hand, she spun away from me quickly making her way across the room and out into the corridor, slamming the door behind her. Cursing under my breath, I pursued her, leaving the door open in my wake. She was already nearing the stairs and I had to jog down the hall to catch up with her, "Selina, wait!"

Surprisingly, she stopped, turning to look up at me, "Bruce, I could give a damn if you took a second to think about us right now… But for you not even think of yourself-."

"I don't have that luxury," I growled at her.

"Damnit, Bruce, you don't have to be so combative, we're not on a rooftop."

I glared down at her after taking a step closer, putting mere inches between us, "It might not kill me to think about myself, it would surely kill someone else. That's... what I have to think about."

She shook her head and as moonlight caught her face, I realized she was crying, "If that's what you need to think about… that's fine, Bruce… " she paused turning away to wipe her cheeks, "In the meantime, I'm going home… one less thing for you to think about."

"Damnit, Selina," I threw my hand out, gripping her upper arm when she tried to walk away.

She broke the move by spinning back to face me and slapping my hand away, "Don't. don't you dare."

Letting my arm drop to my side, I took a breath before apologizing, "I'm sorry."

She bit her lower lip, then leaned in and kissed my cheek, "I don't want hollow words, Bruce. When you mean them, you can say them."

I tried to get in another work but she had already started to walk towards the stairs. Silently, I stepped forward, stopping at the first step in order to watch her. Not knowing what else to do, I asked, "What do you want from me?"

Stopping one last time, Selina paused and looked back at me, "Do what you have to, Bruce. When it's all over, we'll go from there."

My eyes never left her until she was completely out of sight, her rate down the stairs increasing with every step she took. Returning to the bedroom, I wondered if I should have gone after her, if it would have made a difference. Taking a seat on her side of the bed, I looked to the bedside table to see that she had left a pair of hoop earrings along with a silver bracelet. Before I could hate myself anymore than I already did, the phone rang.

"Yes?"

Barbara replied curtly, "He's at the house. Right now."

^V^

Wayne Manor, July 1st, 10:08 a.m.

By the time I had made it to the house, Placido was gone. Had I stayed in the Cave and worked on activity logs, I would have still been suited up and ready to go at a moment's notice. When I had arrived, Batgirl and Robin had been waiting with the bad news that I was too late. We had taken an hour to search the house together, but found only new dishes in the drying rack of the kitchen and dirtied clothes in a hamper that were only soiled with sweat. That was until Batgirl had found crystals of glass caught between the hardwood floorboards of the den.

From there, we had found a paper bag of broken glass spotted with blood in the garage, neatly sitting in the recycle bin. While Robin sampled the blood and checked the larger pieces for prints, I looked for the source. After less than patient looking, I had found an empty picture frame in the bottom drawer of the desk, missing its glass plate. I bagged the frame, hoping to find what had happened on the video feeds.

We had returned to the city shortly afterwards, heading directly to the Clocktower. Barbara and Dick, both in civilian attire, were seated before the various displays in the monitor room. As we joined them, Robin and Batgirl were quick to shed their masks and gloves but I had found no need for it. Together, we watched as the brief footage showed Placido being dropped off by a cab, entering through the front door, walking around the house and then having a small breakfast before sitting at his desk.

"There," I had interrupted, pointing out the picture frame on the desk, "Same one."

Barbara had paused the footage and focused in to reveal it had been a picture of his mother.

We had continued to watch as Placido wrote a single line in his journal before suddenly shouting "No!" while swinging his arm out in rage, sending the picture flying. Placido had then knelt on the floor, cutting his hand while picking up the pieces, hesitating in order to stare at the blood dripping on the picture.

"Okay, this is getting a little Norman Bates for me," Dick muttered.

The remainder of the footage had recorded Placido cleaning up the mess, muttering apologies to seemingly no one and then taking the picture and journal with him. Leaving the house, he had proceeded to walk down the street and out of range of the cameras.

"No outgoing call, no cab. No one up early enough to see him go anywhere," Barbara had reported.

"We should have," I had snapped.

Dick rose from his chair, "Hey, he was there for maybe fifteen minutes tops. By the time the sensors tripped a flag on the system-."

"You weren't watching the monitors?" I had growled while glaring at Barbara.

Barbara had attempted to defend herself but Dick stepped between us, "Hey. Unlike you, we, as humans, need sleep. The system notified us on a one second delay, Bruce. It wouldn't have made a difference."

"One second can always make a difference."

Tim had decided to change the subject, "Well, we know he has to be staying somewhere. I already looked at the guest lists of all the hotels and motels in a ten mile radius. Nothing."

Barbara had added, "You might want to start checking even further, he may have very well walked from the scene at Rockledge, who knows how far he will go to keep out of our sights."

"I'm on it," Tim had nodded curtly before turning to leave the room.

Cassandra had then looked to me, the dark bags beneath her eyes marring her youthful face, "Go back, wait for him."

"No," I had paused before continuing, giving the digital display in the cowl a moment to turn to five-thirty in the morning, "No… get some rest. We'll reconvene at noon, go from there."

"Seriously?" Tim had inquired, shock raising his brow.

Dick had hesitated before touching his young ally's shoulder, "Don't second guess him, bro, he'll change his mind."

Tim had looked to me again, shock giving way to worry. He had then looked to Barbara, "Mind if I use your couch?"

"All yours, Boy wonder. No drooling."

Dick had waited until Cassandra and Tim left before glaring at me, "What the hell is going with you? First your down our throats, then you're telling us to take five?"

Turning to leave, I had snapped, "I told them to rest, not you. I'll be back at noon."

He had growled under his breath, "Bludhaven's sounding pretty good right now."

"Dick…" Barbara had started, "After tonight, not a good time to push his buttons."

I could have spun around and demanded to know what she had meant but proceeded out of the secure room and out of her apartment. The second drive back to Bristol that morning had been a battle with garbage trucks, buses and commuters. I had made it to the cave at quarter after six, feeling as if time was slowing just to further prove how little ground I had been gaining. My plan had involved me waking in an hour and I had yet to shut my eyes for more than a minute.

Noon was a long way off…

Knowing sitting at the computer would have been a death sentence, I had stood while downloading the video feed from Oracle, putting together all of the footage featuring Placido's brief visit. From there, I had run the unnecessary swab analysis of the blood found on the shards of glass before scanning he picture frame for fingerprints. Leaving the computer to work its magic, I had finally made my way to small locker room housed in the Cave.

At a little before seven, I had been letting cold water blast down on me, forcing the fatigue out of my system.

Two minutes later, I had heard Alfred's footsteps on the metal grated flooring followed by his inquiry, "A pity that Ms. Selina had to leave so early, sir… I had a wonderful breakfast in mind…"

Naturally, I had ignored him.

He had waited a full minute before adding, "Regrettably, given that it is no longer breakfast for two, I will have to resort to a simpler meal… perhaps… cold porridge."

Shutting the water off, I had continued to ignore him, drying quickly before donning a spare set of clothing he kept in the Cave for me. Briskly walking by him, I had headed straight for the computer bay, noting the expected results positively matching blood and fingerprints matching Peter Placido. Finally taking a seat, I had attacked the keyboard aggressively, covering Alfred's footsteps with the clatter of keys.

"Sir?"

Bringing up the compiled footage, I had finally granted him a rough, "What?"

"I know that it is entirely not my business, but-."

"You're right, it's not." After a moment of silence, I had turned to snap something at him but he was already gone.

I spent the remainder of the morning studying footage of Placido, breaking apart the various scenes in order to get a better sense of the monster I had failed to hunt down. Save for the unexplained moment at his desk, there seemed to be nothing outwardly aggressive about him. He had walked with quiet, purposeful steps, carrying his well kept form balanced and upright. The video of him changing had revealed no obvious scarring on his body and mild modesty, even in the presumed safety of his home.

The camera in the kitchen had been aimed directly at his face as he rinsed an empty bowl and dirtied spoon, carrying out the task with a soft expression on his face.

Not a minute later, he had shouted and flung a picture off of his desk.

"Barbara?" I asked, opening a link to her at ten in the morning.

"Yeah?" she responded, her visual coming on screen without hesitation.

"Get Cassandra to Placido's. I need her to look for his journals."

Barbara replied, "I thought he took it with him?"

I nodded, "He did. But it's safe to say there are others. We should have looked for one to begin with."

"Bruce, you're the world's greatest detective, not mind reader… I'll go see if I can wake the dead-. Uh oh…"

"What?" I was quick to ask.

"We have a problem…" As she said the words, the media flags spewed forth a number of windows covering live footage of SAIC Rich Caffery standing outside of a house I had been to twice that morning.

"Damnit," I growled to myself as the buffoon started to talk.

"… hard work and determination has allowed us to determine our prime suspect is one Peter Placido. As you can see behind me, my team and local law enforcement are already securing the suspect's house and getting a start on forensic work. At this time, we believe the suspect has left the immediate area and should be considered armed and dangerous. The Deputy Mayor and the family of Placido's victims have personally funded a $500,000 reward for information leading to his arrest. If you have any-."

I muted the breaking news feed by slamming my fist down on the control panel.

Barbara shook her head, "There was nothing on my radar about this…"

"It's my fault… I haven't spoken with your father in days."

"That's even if he knew about it… Last he told me that had completely written him off."

Blood pounding in my temples, I rose from the chair and started pacing. There was nothing I could do now, I mused, I had missed my chance, perhaps if I had sought him out the night before, been more persistent...

With Caffery on the trail, chaos was sure to result. And no matter how many times Placido had bloodied his hands; he didn't deserve what was coming to him.

Leaving Barbara to curtail as much information as she could about just how much they knew, I quickly shed my clothes and donned stained khakis, a faded blue GCPD polo shirt and matching baseball cap as well as a pair of black, plastic rimmed glasses. Choosing tennis shoes, I grabbed keys to a dinged up Honda Accord from the box near the garage and headed back to Placido's. While en route, I retrieved a fake ID badge from the glove compartment, along with a glue on goatee.

While the real forensics specialist Adam Crowley played racquetball with his wife, I arrived at the scene in his stead. He was the only member on the forensics team that resembled me and was easy to portray in a bind. The main requirement was that I asked dumb questions, make innuendos at inappropriate times and show up with coffee for myself and no one else.

Although the feds were in charge, I managed to get through the police barricade with ease and right into the house. I made my appearance known to a few of the fellow forensics technicians before touring the house, retrieving all of the audio and video sensors before they could be detected. They were practically invisible to the naked eye and photographic equipment, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Having already swept the house without finding a collection of journals, I headed for the garage. I spent the better part of an hour pretending to document the garage's meager contents before taking a look inside one of the totes in storage. Dozens of notebooks, composition, spiral bound, legal pads and hardcover journals were neatly organized within. I proceeded to check the remaining totes, finding four more containing similar collections, all in chronological order. Had I worked for the GCPD, I would have been obligated to immediately report the find to my supervisor…

Thankfully, I had two hours to myself in the garage, skimming through various notebooks, thumbing through pages with latex gloved hands. Placido never specifically mentioned the victims, only briefly describing that he had encounters on the dates of the murders with nameless women. More often than not, he referred to them as being "just like her, just like the Whore." Going further back, the Whore turned out to be his step-mother, whom he had obviously harbored deep-seated hatred for.

Unfortunately, I was unable to go back as far as his mother's death as a federal agent found me, "What you got there?"

Every tote I had opened had been immediately replaced, enabling me to act as if I had just opened the tote of focus, "Journals, these ones date back almost twenty years."

The agent, adjusted his tie, peered over my shoulder as I sat on the floor, "Good work, I'll go get Caff."

After he returned to the house, I quickly found the tote I had yet to look through and grabbed the first five journals, quickly tucking them under my shirt and into the back of my pants. Making an exit by pretending to talk on my cell phone to "my wife", I nearly made it back to my car unnoticed.

Reaching for the door handle, I heard Gordon clear his throat, "Caffery would hang you if he knew you were here."

Without turning around to face him, I replied, "That obvious?"

"Not to anyone but me… I know Crowley isn't here because his wife just called HR... she accidentally hit him in the face with a racquetball. He's good but he's not dedicated enough to be undergoing plastic surgery and helping out at a crime scene at the same time."

I finally decided to turn, lowering my cap slightly along with my voice, "They won't anything, not in there."

"How do you know that?" Gordon asked. He then smirked, "You knew it was him?"

"I had a hunch."

"For how long?"

I paused before responding, "Does it matter?"

"No, I guess it doesn't…" Gordon looked away from me, and back towards the swarming house, "Well put that hunch to use, old friend… Preferably before they catch up with him. Or he catches up with us."

^V^


	11. Man or Monster

Title: Do Unto Others: Man or Monster

Author: DC Luder

Summary: Gotham City's protectors must defend it against a new predator.

Rating: M

Author's Note: All recognizable characters belong to DC Comics, not DC Luder.

A/N 2: This chapter has been modified from its original version.

^V^

The Clocktower, July 1st, 9:10 p.m.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, announcing my presence in her secure room.

Without flinching, Barbara looked away from a surprisingly blank screen and over her shoulder at me, "Tim and Cass are juggling patrols and touring all of the high target areas, trying to keep an eye out for him. Issuing a suspect has dropped activity in the clubs considerably, but they said there are still plenty for the picking."

"And Dick?"

Her gaze returned to her screen, bringing up the scanned journals I had uploaded into the crays, "I think you know where he is… or at least where he is heading."

Not wanting to press further on the subject, I continued, "He's not in the city. From what I've read, he's never liked it here, never felt safe. No doubt he had fled to Rockledge to get away from it all, not knowing that there was no escape."

Barbara nodded, "I was thinking the same thing. With the task force adamant that he's still around, this is exactly where they're looking for him. They're not seeing the big picture."

After a moment, she tapped a control on the keyboard and the main display lit up with a map of Gotham City. In white, markers indicated where the victims had been found over the summer. Red showed the streets that Robin and Batgirl had been that night and yellow showed where they had yet to check. Even though it was just after nine, the digital fire looked to be evenly placed throughout the city's most populated areas.

There was a pause before Barbara asked, "I know you'll probably just yell at me and walk out for asking but… what happened with Selina? She booked a flight for Rome. For one."

"I have no say in what she does or where she goes."

"Bruce," Barbara looked up at me, her green eyes vibrant despite her exhaustion, "I know it's hard, but saying 'I'm sorry' doesn't hurt that bad."

Ignoring her comment, I asked, "Anything from forensics?"

She sighed before turning back to her workstation, "Nothing exciting. They see the information from his childhood journals as a prime foundation for a sexual predator, along with aggression over his mother's violent death…"

"That's not why he's doing this."

"Then why?"

"It has to do with the step-mother. She plays a role in all of this."

Barbara sighed before admitting, "Still can't believe Caffery took over that house, announced his name… Placido will never come back now. And it'll be searching for a needle in a haystack, no, a hay field to find him.

I nodded slightly. When criminals ran, they did so as fast and as far as possible to the safest possible location. Although not the average, Placido was still a criminal, a man on the run. And he definitely needed a safe place to hide. With such a small window of time since his last appearance and seemingly unyielding ties to the area, it was a safe bet that he had yet to flee entirely.

My mind flashed back on Selina, nearly running down the stairs that morning, running away from me because our relationship was no longer safe.

I then thought of myself, much younger, bleeding to death following my first act of crime fighting.

There was only one place that felt safe when you were threatened…

"Robin checking in," I heard a voice come over the speakers.

Barbara smiled and activated her mic, "How's the night life?"

"Lack there of, you must mean. There wasn't even a line to get into Romano's and that place usually has a waiting list well into next week. The city is practically dead."

"Good to hear," she replied. As she looked back to me, she covered her mic, "What do you want them to do now?"

I took a long breath before saying, "Resume regular patrols."

"Will you be joining them?"

I shook my head, "I'm going after Placido."

She quickly delivered the message to my young protégés and then proceeded to cut the feed, "You know where he is?" After ignoring her question, she followed me as I made my way to the window, "Bruce, wait, how do you know where he is?"

Once the window was opened, I paused before moving through it, "He's gone to where it's safe."

"And where would that be?" she looked at me, frustration drawing her eyebrows up.

"Home."

"There's no way he's getting back in."

I shook my head, "That's not the place he calls home Barbara. It's the same place I call home, the place where he and his parents lived together."

Before she could protest, I stepped out into the darkness and disappeared.

^V^

Residence of the Barlows, July 1st, 9:26 p.m.

He had lied.

It hadn't been the first time he had used the leather bound police badge to get his way around matters, and it wouldn't be the last. His uncle had given it to him shortly after he had retired, telling him that it would make a great addition for when he played cops and robbers with his friends. If he had any friends, it surely would have.

The badge had acted as Pete's ID for a quick, no questions asked rental of a four-door sedan the color of a dolphin, billed of course to the Gotham City Police Department. He had been directed by the man behind the registration counter to the left rear of the parking lot where the car waited for him. The very second he sat in the driver's seat, he was impressed by the cleanliness of it. It started effortlessly and guided with superior ease, unlike his former mode of transportation, which required a bit of skill.

He didn't have to worry about that anymore.

It had been two years since he had last taken an impulsive drive to the house he had spent the first six years of his life in. It was his last resort to putting his life back into balance. It had been just before Christmas and the house had looked as magnificent as ever with fresh snow fall decorating the shrubs and trees in the front yard and blanketing the house in white. To Pete's surprise, it had been up for sale and if he had the funding, he surely would have bought it.

He had been tempted in the time that had lapsed to visit the old house but had somehow managed to resist it. Although returning to his childhood home offered him comfort, it also brought back hundreds of painful memories. It was double-edge sword, one he was wary of handling especially in the state he was in.

That as until he had watched the news earlier that day.

His mother had been right. They had finally found him. They were going to lock him away and prevent him from carrying out his promise. There had even been a price put on his head, a sum many would be unable to resist, including the kid at the motel's reception.

He had to leave.

He had no where to go.

No… he had some place…

After securing the rental car, thankful that the attendant had yet to see his wanted face on the television, Pete had obeyed every traffic law imaginable, doing his best not to draw attention. There had been no road blocks when he made his way out of the crowded residential borough and out towards the less populated suburbs. He had found himself taking the same route he had days earlier out towards Rockledge.

Pete had even passed by the muddy ditch where he had taken the last one, although it had been all cleaned up and lacked any sign of the accident or his actions. While driving, he had slowed his speed slightly as a part of him longed to stop all together. He had physically shook himself in order to ignore the temptation, knowing it wouldn't definitely arouse suspicion. He certainly had been unable to afford that…

As the digital readout on the car's dash read noon, Pete had turned onto the road he had learned how to ride his bike on. He had recognized the large tree he used to stand under waiting for the bus at the end of the block, one he had climbed many times to evade bullies. He had memorized the order of branches in order to get up the tree as fast as possible, learning from failure and having the daylights kicked out of him. The times he had been able to make it to safety, they had resulted to shouting out a rainbow of foul words and names. Queer. Peepee. Freak.

His life had taken a considerable change since then. He had learned to ignore the taunts of others and defend himself if necessary. He had learned to tackle his problems head on.

Save for his current predicament…

"Welcome home, Peter," his mother's voice had said softly into his ear.

Pete had looked up, smiling as he recognized the slate blue paneled house, the worn shingles and paved driveway of his childhood home. His smile had then faded when he noticed that not everything was the same. The flowerbeds he had meticulously tended as a young child had been replaced with small hedges and Japanese Yew. As he scanned the lawn, he did not see a for sale sign, but in instead, a mailbox with the name Barlow printed on the side.

"Someone's inside the house, Peter. Trespassers. Vandals. Strangers."

"No… they… it's a new family… they bought it," Peter had muttered, driving by the house without looking back.

"Peter, you have to do something…"

He had toured the block once more, driving by the house a second time. To his surprise, Pete had passed by just as the front door had opened, a small boy and a blond-haired woman making their way into the brilliant July sun. He was quick to realize that they were playing tag, their laughter carrying all of the way from the yard to his rolled down window. Pete had swallowed hard before driving off, leaving the neighborhood as quickly as possible.

"Remember, Peter, remember what it was like?"

He had shook his head, trying to ignore her as he guided the rental car back onto a county highway, anything to take him far away. He had driven nearly four hours down I-84 before pulling over at a rest stop to fill up and use the rest room. After he had washed his hands, Pete had splashed water on his face. Looking up and into the grimy mirror, Pete's mind had flashed an image of the Whore grinning victoriously at him instead of his own reflection.

He had made a promise to his mother…

He had once more become that little boy, hiding in the tree…

He had to go back.

By the time he returned to his former home, it was after nine, dusk giving way to humid night air. As Pete made his approach to the house, he flicked off the headlights and went into neutral. He parked out on the curb and without hesitation, Pete stepped out of the vehicle and proceeded to walk up the drive. Unlike earlier, there was a large, glossy SUV parked outside of open garage door. Of the windows he could see on the front of the house, two emitted lights. One was the kitchen and the other was the master bedroom on the other end of the house.

The room his mother had killed herself in.

"Peter… what are they doing in our home?"

He walked up next to the house and looked up at the kitchen window just as a shadow passed by inside. For the first time in far too long, he felt nervous, his stomaching tightening as his pulse quickened. He tried to remind himself that there was no need to be afraid, that if anyone should be, it was the strangers in his home.

Carefully, he climbed the cement steps up to the mudroom door, if which lead directly into the kitchen. Taking a breath, he touched the doorknob, turned his wrist and let loose a half-smile as the knob gave and the door opened. His parents had never locked the doors when they had lived there, such a safe neighborhood.

Upon entering the house, the first sensation that hit him was the odor of popcorn followed shortly by the homey atmosphere he had missed out on his entire life. The faint aroma left after dinner, the hint of cleaning spray and the soft sounds of a quiet family night at home. Thankful, the dryer and washer was running, covering the sounds of his footfalls as he walked further into his house.

Unlike the outside, the interior had changed dramatically. Wallpaper he had memorized had given way to white walls and wood paneling. The scuffed linoleum floors had been replaced with blue tiles and the light fixtures were far more decorative than necessary. Not only were they living in his home, but they had changed it, ruining it forever.

Standing in the open archway of the kitchen, Pete looked into the room to see a tall, sandy haired man pouring the contents of a popcorn bag into a glass bowl. Despite the noise as popped kernels chiming on glass, Pete heard his mother clearly, "He doesn't belong here."

The man crumbled the bag and threw it away underneath the sink, calling out to the living room down the hall, "Do we need more than one bag, hon?"

Although she had replied that one would be fine, he never had a chance to hear it. Having not been prepared to deal with the intruders, Pete had to make do. A quick glance to the kitchen sink offered a sight of a full dish rack, including a large cutting knife in one of its slots. In the police academy, his advising officer had offered him only one useful piece of advice: in the midst of an impossible situation, a resolution will reveal itself if you look for it.

Palming the knife, Pete crossed the floor of the kitchen and approached the stranger. The sole of his shoe squeaked softly on the floor just as he stopped, mere inches from his target. It was just loud enough for the man to turn around and stare directly at Pete, "Who the-."

In one quick move, Pete slashed the knife at the man, stepping back as red sprayed from his neck. The man flailed backwards, his hands uselessly pressing against the gushing wound before falling back against the counter. Pete watched as the back of his head caught the popcorn bowl and pushed it onto the floor. It shattered on impact, spewing glass shards and popcorn across the floor's too smooth surface.

"Bring him to me, Peter"

Pete looked towards the hall, where his mother's voice seemed to be coming from. Putting the knife between his teeth, Pete could taste iron-sweet blood and cool steel. The man was nearly the same size as Pete but was easy to drag away, especially when he stopped flailing about. Reaching the master bedroom at the end of the hall, Pete had to pass not only his old room, but the bathroom and the small office his father had kept as well. To keep back the sudden flood of memories, he focused on his task at hand.

He had to do as his mother told him.

Just as he reached the open bedroom door, Pete heard the scream "Henry!"

Female, shrill and frightened. His mother had never screamed, she had cried often but had never made such an awful sound.

Pete dropped the limp man and pressed himself flush against the inside wall of the bedroom, his eyes towards the door. He listened carefully as staggering footsteps echoed down the hall as she followed the trail he had left on the beige carpet. Then a soft moan before another cry, "HENRY!"

The second she passed through the bedroom door, Pete reached out and grabbed her, his eyes dark and unwavering. She tried to scream but he backhanded her and she simply gasped instead. The knife still clamped between his incisors, he shoved her down on the bed, his glare settling on her face. Her one cheek was bright red and her eyes had already begun to shed tears of fear and pain. Even as he punched her temple, he couldn't help but flash back to the day his father had slapped his mother, and how she had cried in bed for so long that night…

"No!" she screamed, her hands coming up to claw his face. She gouged a chunk of flesh from his cheek and tried to aim at his eyes. To retaliate, he hit her again, hard in the face, before chopping at her throat. After two more similar blows, her eyes rolled back and her breathing became labored and loud.

Pete seemed to work on automatic at that point, crouching above her with his legs to either side of his. The blood in his veins was hot and quick, just like so many times before. As he looked down at the bleeding face before him, it wasn't difficult to visualize the Whore, that he had finally gotten to her and that he was then able to rid the world of her once and for all.

He slowly removed the blade from his mouth and wiped it on his shirtsleeve, eyeing his reflection carefully. A blurry image reflected as well, something by the door.

Pete turned and saw a small boy, clad in green pajamas, a milk moustache gracing his upper lip. The child eyed the bloody remains of his father and then slowly looked up to Pete as he knelt above the Whore.

No, it was his mother, Pete realized when he noticed the boy's lower lip quivering.

It was his Mother.

It was him…

^V^

Residence of the Barlows, July 1st, 9:29 p.m.

Traveling twenty miles over the speed limit, I navigated the back roads towards Rockledge with a bad feeling in my gut. I had already checked to see that the former Placido residence was in fact the current Barlow household. He had butchered a woman and left her for dead in the woods after a fender bender, what would he do if he went to his childhood home and found a new family there?

Thinking about it made me gun the accelerator.

As I pulled up to the quiet house, I spotted a rental car parked out front.

I expected the worst, not even daring to hope for the best.

Stepping out of the 'Mobile, I programmed it to park itself a few blocks down the road, not wanting or needing to alert anyone of my arrival. Using the darkness of the drive, I walked quickly up along the outside of the house and towards a side door which was regrettably unlocked with no signs of forced entry.

Had Placido gained entrance on false pretense of amiability or had the residents trusted the safety of their neighborhood?

Without hesitation, I made my way into the kitchen, first noticing the spray of arterial blood before scattered pieces of popcorn and broken glass. A quick glance at the blood pattern said the victim had been assaulted front on, the arc of blood on the floor covering the floor and ceiling as opposed to the counter and cupboards. With dread beginning to creep into my veins, I touched a splatter of blood with a gloved finger, surprised when it was still wet.

There was a gory path leading out of the kitchen and down a narrow tan hall. Holding my breath, I heard no sign of life or even the struggle for life. Glancing around the corner, I spotted a sliver of light at the end, escaping from a room. I moved soundlessly towards the light, doing my best to divert my eyes from the family portraits that were on the walls, full of smiling, carefree faces.

Ten feet short of the end of the corridor, I saw a pair of limp legs in dark flannel pants laying motionless in a saturated pool of blood. The light had been escaping from an open bedroom door but I was unable to look in without moving any closer. Knowing it was futile, I squatted beside the foot of the leg, searched for a digital pulse.

My tardiness had resulted in another casualty.

After standing upright against the wall, I eased closer to the door and listened, hearing ragged breaths from at least two individuals. Preparing for anything, I carefully peered inside, instantly seeing the still form of a blond-haired woman on the bed. In the family portraits, she had been bright and cheerful but in real life she appeared just as lifeless as her husband, laying awkwardly on the bedspread.

A good portion of the room was hidden from my vantage point and I had to move closer to search for the other individual in the room. I had expected Placido to be long gone and tried to prepare myself to find the filleted body of the young boy in the corner of the room. What I hadn't expected was to see the killer that had plagued Gotham City for months kneeling before a pajama clad child, both of them crying silently.

Keeping out of sight, I inched back and out of sight, listening as Placido apologized, "I'm sorry. I was wrong… I shouldn't have…"

From the brief glimpse I had made, the boy seemed to be all right, obviously in shock but not blatantly injured. Although physical wounds were nothing compared to the pain of witnessing the deaths of parents.

I heard a soft gasp, placing it as belonging to the mother. Looking in again, I nearly sighed with relief when the woman's arm twitched slightly, then shivered before going still. Alive. But for how long?

With Placido distracted, I looked him over, noticing the knife in his left hand hanging loosely from his fingertips. I could have thrown a bolo, or even charged in, but was unsure if I could take him down before he got to the boy. A risk I was unwilling to take. I watched on as Placido jerked his head to the right, "But you told me… I can't hurt him… He's innocent… He's just like me…"

Talking to himself. Schizophrenics were generally nonviolent, but when they were, they were extremely so. Had the voices in his diseased mind controlled him all this time? But when charged with the task of taking the life of a child he was standing his ground?

Taking a risk, I called out softly, "Peter."

"Who? Dad?"

"Peter, listen to me."

"Dad? How can it be…."

"Come out here, talk to me."

Placido had paused before asking, "Is she out there?"

She. The Whore.

"No, your step-mother is long gone," I improvised.

"Is she coming back?" he responded, his footsteps slowly approaching the doorway.

"No, Pete… she's gone for good." Thinking of the hatred he had expressed for the woman in his journals, I added, "I should have never brought her into our lives… I'm sorry, Pete."

He finally stepped into sight, filling the doorway with his form, his grip on the knife tightening, "Dad?"

Over six feet, built with strong muscle, but no bulk to slow him down. It was no wonder he had never had a problem overpowering his victims. Looks to lure them in, strength to finish them off. Before he could spot me in the darkness of the hall, I lunged forward, striking his knife bearing hand hard as to stun the nerves in his wrist. He cried out, the features of his face changing in an instant from confusion to outrage.

Dealing another blow to his arm, I growled when he refused to drop the knife, ducking when he slashed out at my face, screaming in anger, "Where is my father?"

I took a second to glance behind me when another cry sounded, belonging to the little boy as he scrambled to climb onto the bed with his unconscious mother. I did my best to guide Placido back into the hall, still chopping away at his arm. I felt bones crunch and yet still he had a steel grip on the knife.

With a final blow, he dropped it and fell to the carpet briefly before scrambling to his feet, "Where is he?"

Placido charged at my midsection and I sidestepped him, allowing him to run into the wall so hard that his head left a dome shaped indent. When he turned to face me, his brow bloodied, he let out a low growl of frustration and came at me again. I moved out of the way just in time and tripped him before landing a blow to the back of his head with the heel of my hand. He tumbled shoulder first onto the floor and collided with a small end table.

The lamp crashed and the illumination of the room went with it. I activated my night lenses and watched as Placido quickly made his way to his feet. I took the spare moment to glance at the bed and noticed the boy had vanished. I looked towards the corner and spotted him, huddled in the fetal position and crying softly.

Sooner than I suspected, Placido came back at me, "You can't stop me."

"Stop you from what?" I growled back, "Killing innocent people?"

"Innocent?" he dragged air in hungrily, scanning the room as his eyes adjusted to the dark, "How were they innocent? The things they were going to do, the lives they were going to ruin… I couldn't let them… I couldn't…" He had given up on the bull and matador routine and opted to run at me, swinging blindly at my face, "You can't stop me!"

"I can," I blocked two consecutive hits and then struck out myself, hitting him square in the jaw, "And I will."

"Monster," he muttered as he rose to his feet once more, seemingly undeterred, "Where is he? Where is my father?"

"Your father is dead. Your mother is dead. Just like that man laying in the hall. Just like all of the girls you-."

I didn't have time to finish as he swung out again, my lenses picking up the glimmer as he slashed out with a piece of broken lamp. I dodged the assault easily by stepping back and then to the side. I thought the dark would have been my advantage, but as I felt a hot pain in my arm as Placido hacked blindly, I realized my error. Desperation was a fact that I couldn't ignore. I blocked the next two swipes and then chopped his swollen wrist. The shiv fell from his hand and I used the distraction to hit him in the back of the head once more.

Falling down again, he sobbed, "You can't stop me… I have to… I promised her."

Having gained the upper hand, I asked, "Promised who?"

His eyes closed and I watched him breathe unsteadily for a moment before turning to the bed, taking the time to assess the woman's vitals. I then stepped over Placido's limp form, binding his wrists before going to check on the boy. He was rocking slowly, arms pulled tight around his bent legs. When I crouched in front of him, I told him he was all right and that help was on the way. I feared to touch him, for in the dark, it would most likely frighten him. The boy looked up with glassy eyes and searched for my face in the dark.

I stood and reached for the pull string on the light in the closet but just as my fingers touched it, I heard the knife hit flesh before feeling it in my lower back. Stumbling forward, I caught myself on the wall so not to fall on the boy as Placido drove the knife in further. Somewhere in my mind, I tried to figure out how he had managed to get his hands over his long legs and back in front of him. A point made mute as he began twisting the blade.

Despite the white hot flare in my back, I swung my elbow back, connecting it with his temple in rapid fire succession. He fell back, catching himself on the edge of the bed before standing upright once more. I had been stabbed dozens of times, from lucky shots by thugs and finely tuned killers such as Victor Zsasz. Regrettably, Placido was of the latter variety, evident as light headedness washed over me, suggesting he had made an intentional strike while my guard had been down.

He quickly removed the knife and kneed me in the back, feeding the pain. I spun around, using his inability to properly defend himself to my dwindling advantage. Despite two solid blows to his abdomen and kick to the head, Placido only doubled over, taking less than a second to recover.

"You can't stop me," he repeated once more, "I won't let you."

As he lunged at me once more, I managed to side step him, preparing to bring the heel of my palm down on the back of his skull. Just as I reached back to garner the momentum I needed to take him out once and for all, he spun, driving the knife into my side and catching it in between two ribs. I growled while proceeding to deliver my intended hit, regrettably with half of the power I needed. Feeling my chest constrict with every shallow breath, I stunned his left arm with a nerve block, rendering it useless.

Rushing, I swung a roundhouse, nailing him in the back of the head and sending him flying away from me. With a brief second to spare, I spat and looked down at the embedded knife, doing my best to conserve oxygen by regulating my breathing. Before I could attempt to remove it, I noticed movement in front of me.

He wasn't going to stop.

The boy was crying again.

He wasn't going to stop.

I had to…

Without warning, I lost the ability to inhale, the only air moving was escaping my lungs and compressing them in my chest cavity. Holding my breath was unwise but my only option until I was able to take him down. My oxygen hungry brain and muscles made a final attack on him useless and pathetic, letting him knock me down with forward kick to my solar plexus. In an instant, Placido was kneeling above me, taking a hold of the knife with his right hand.

All I had to do was hit him, kick him, anything and it would be over…

He pushed the knife deeper and I cried out involuntarily, gripping his hands and doing my best to push them away.

"You bleed, you're not a monster. Just a man."

I took a weak hold onto his hands, my gloves too slick to get a grip. After a moment of staring down at me, started carving upward, using the rib as a guide. Despite the fact that pain was overwhelming, I couldn't manage anything more than a quiet gasp. Suddenly, he jerked his hands back, pulling the blade with them. I was too occupied with the sudden jolt of pain that I barely noticed him cutting his wrists free of the bonds.

Most of my foes, given a similar upper hand, would have been grinning down at me, ready to claim victory. Oddly enough, Placido looked sad.

"You don't understand," he spoke softly, "I do good things. I stop them, I stop them before they can hurt innocent families… like she hurt mine."

I suddenly wished I hadn't pushed my own Family away.

"I made a promise to my mother, the day she died… the day the Whore made her kill herself… I sat there… her blood on my hands… and I promised her, I would make sure no one suffered like she had... Like I had…"

I had made a similar promise…

Placido added, "If you are a man, than you must have a mother."

My mother's smiling face flashed in my shock-riddled mind.

I finally got a hold of his wrist, but was still unable to find the energy to do anything. He continued, "You know you would do anything for her… to make her happy…"

An image of her twitching and bleeding to death surfaced.

"She took my mother away from me…"

Months of little rest, hardly no sleep, all adding up to that very moment.

"No child should have to grow up without a mother…" He leaned in and whispered into my ear, "Did she teach you the Golden Rule? Do unto others…"

I slammed the reinforced brow of the cowl into his face, relieved when he sat up howling in pain, cupping his broken nose. His weight off of my chest, I was able to draw in a breath, enough to keep the fog out of my head. My limbs, cold and sluggish, took far too long to bring me back to my feet.

When Placido looked up at me, I growled "… as they would do unto you."

He smiled and I kicked him square in the face.

My reserve of energy spent, I stumbled back, letting my shoulders collide with the wall. I should have secured him again, five point restraints with the cuffs but I could barely keep my eyes open. Letting my head turn slowly, I looked to the boy as he trembled, hands covering his eyes. At his age, I had looked death in the eye.

Maybe his idea was…

"Batman!"

My eyes snapped open to see Nightwing standing above me. I had no idea how long I had been out, long enough for the blood on my hands to become tacky. I tried to tell him to secure Placido, but my mouth wasn't working. He said something about the Mobile being outside and that Leslie and Alfred were waiting. I felt him jab something just underneath my left armpit, vaguely thinking he was doing a field dressing to let the air out of my chest.

With oxygen flooding my system, I looked to see Placido was bound, hands and feet, motionless. The boy hadn't moved as well, still quivering in the corner. I looked to the bed and tried to get Nightwing's attention to divert to her.

"She's fine, vitals are stable, unlike yours…"

"Placido…"

"Still in better shape than you are…" he muttered as he applied compress bandages to my side, "… shouldn't have come here alone…"

"Couldn't…wait."

"Shut up… and be thankful I left my cell at the Clocktower and was heading back into the city…"

"Wouldn't… stop… Promised his…"

"I mean it," the lenses of his cowl glowed in the dark room, "Shut up." He paused momentarily, "We've got to get you out of here… O says the feds are on their way."

"The boy…"

"Is fine, come on, let's go home."

^V^

Wayne Manor, July 4th, 8:01 a.m.

The day after Placido was apprehended, every state newspaper and even a few national ones broadcasted his capture on the front page. Local news stations reported live from the scene, interviewed people of his past and did there best to make sense on how someone so normal could have done so much harm. Everyone associated with him had the same thing to say: a nice, quiet man, very polite and mannered, never would hurt a fly. Even his newspaper boy vouched for his good nature.

Since Special Crimes had made it to the scene before the FBI, Caffery had no hand in Placido's arrest. The only attention he received from reporters focused heavily on his laundry list of suspects had never included Placido until it was too late. To make matters worse, he had been joked about by the entire Gotham City police force. Special Crimes had even gone as far as Photoshopping an FBI identification card with Batman's picture and signature, putting it in a cheap leather wallet in Caffery's car.

Robin said that when Gordon told him, he had never laughed so hard in his life.

June Barlow, the widow of Henry Barlow, suffered a minor concussion and a fracture in her jaw. Their eight-year-old son was physically fine, nothing that years of therapy wouldn't solve. Odds were that the second she was done burying her husband, she and her son would be leaving the former Placido residence without looking back.

Placido had suffered a number of injuries prior to police arriving to the scene from an unidentified assailant. Aside from a eight bones being shattered in his forearm and wrist, he had a crushed nose, dislocated jaw, a moderate concussion and a number of bruised ribs. When he had woken in the hospital the morning after he had been taken into custody, the first thing he had asked for was his mother.

There had been no word from Selina and I doubted that there would be for some time. Even though Placido was in custody, the problems that had arisen between us were not over. Not for the first time and surely not for the last, I had let my work interfere with my life, driving away someone I cared about. Then again, the safest place for anyone was to be as far away as I could push them.

As the rest of Gotham prepared to spend the holiday with their family and friends, I watched the morning news in bed, doing my best to sit up against a mountain of pillows. For the fourth day in a row, Placido was the lead story, still listed in stable condition in the police ward of Gotham General. Although he had yet to formally make a confession about his actions, there was enough evidence to put him away for a long, long time. Given his mental instability, I had reasoned that his path seemed to be headed towards Arkham, or hopefully, to a state mental institution as far from my city as possible.

As the anchor moved on to discuss the highlights of that night's Fourth of July Festival at Robinson Park, I shut the television off and closed my eyes. Alfred had taken the chest tube out the night before and it felt much better to breath without my lung collapsing. By the time Dick and I had pulled up to the Clinic that night, I had lost consciousness. After two blood transfusions, eighty internal and external stitches, I was deemed fit enough to live another day. I woke the next morning to a lengthy, dramatic appraisal from Alfred, including the claim that I had nearly died.

Dick had readily backed him up, "You were pretty blue… and not in the glum kind of way."

I had been ordered to at least two weeks of bed rest and another two weeks of relaxation to allow the internal damage enough time to heal. It would be much longer before I was able to properly move around without grimacing in pain. I had been openly angry at myself for not being able to apprehend Placido without incident, but Alfred had been quick to point out that the odds had indefinitely been against me.

As they had my entire life.

It had not been luck that Dick was forced to return to the city that night, more so a blessing. Batgirl and Robin had been on their way once Oracle had informed them of my plan but I had doubted that either would have made it in time. Nightwing had been the closest and my only chance at ever seeing the light of day again, of which he had reminded me of every waking moment since.

Following patrols, he had dropped by earlier that morning, making sure I was following doctor's orders so not to ruin hi efforts. I had grumbled something about hubris and he had chided back, "Call it what you want, Bruce… can't fault it if it's the truth."

"Keep it up, Icarus."

He had smiled before responding, "Well, Happy Fourth. I'm off to sleep until the fifth."

Alone, I settled back against the pillows, exhausted myself despite the last few days I had spent sleeping. A tone sounded from the phone on the nightstand, followed by Alfred's voice, "Sir?"

"What?" I grumbled, my eyes still shut.

"I have a lovely dish of poached eggs just begging to be devoured, Master Bruce..."

I growled, "No."

"Is there something you would prefer, than? Perhaps a hearty omelet, Belgian waffles, another gladiatorial fight to the death?" the sincerity in his voice was unnerving.

"No."

He paused and then signed off, "Very well then, Master Bruce. I shall leave you to your speedy recovery."

As silence returned to the room, I shifted carefully, still wincing as my weight fell on the wound on my lower back. With an injury on my back and on my side, it had been difficult to find a somewhat comfortable position to lie in for a period longer than an hour. I adjusted the pillow at the small of my back and reclined more on my left side.

At the discovery of comfort, I sighed.

Just short of falling asleep, I heard the door open and I smelt strong coffee and warm breakfast. I kept my eyes closed, "Alfred, what part of no did you not understand?"

My eyes flew open when I heard a female voice reply, "I think the man who nearly had himself sheared into filet mignon doesn't get a say in… anything."

I stared in disbelief as Selina casually set the tray on the opposite night table before walking around and sitting beside me on the bed. She wore a knee length black skirt and a midnight blue silk blouse, make up had been applied, but I could still see dark smudges beneath her eyes.

Although it was agony, I sat up and did my best to hide the pain.

She cleared her throat and then said, "You know, I usually love Independence Day. I don't celebrate in much of a patriotic sense, more like my own personal independence. But this morning, when I woke up and stepped out onto the terrace, I didn't feel independent at all. Then I realized that I haven't felt it in some time." She took a deep breath and paused before continuing, "And I actually don't mind it… as much as I thought I would."

Her eyes left my face momentarily, looking over the bandages that covered my bare torso, the mottled bruising that raged my flesh. A sad look came over her face, making me feel even worse than I already had. I felt her hand carefully touch the bandages on my side and then traced her fingers up to my chest, "This is exactly why you should listen to me. Bad things happen when you don't."

"So I've learned."

She smiled sadly before leaning closer, pressing her brow to mine, "Are you okay?"

Slowly, I nodded against her head.

Selina moved her hand to rest it over my heart, drawing her face back to ask, "Are we okay?"

I didn't nod. Instead, I put my hand over hers and looked into a pair of emerald eyes as if for the first time.

I didn't shake my head. Instead, I kissed her as if it was going to be the last time.

^V^


End file.
